


Lie with Me, Here in the Dark

by Lagerstatte



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Introspection, M/M, Past Child Abuse (Sexual), Past Rape/Non-con, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 11:28:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14424459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lagerstatte/pseuds/Lagerstatte
Summary: Prompto had told them of his time in Zegnautus Keep. What he'd said had been enough to make Ignis indescribably furious.And the things he hadn't told them – well, some things, Ignis knew, were best left unsaid. Some things – some traumas – were never told or shared or worked through except by oneself, alone, in secret, and that was fine. Keeping such things private didn't prevent the healing process. Of course he would give Prompto his privacy. Of course he'd be fine.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saisei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/gifts).



> Thank you for reading! Concrit is always welcome.

It had happened thirteen years ago, and a lot had happened since, up to and including the literal apocalypse. It was, Ignis knew, entirely reasonable he simply didn't think about it any more. He'd moved on.  
  
_'I marked your essay,'_ _Radix said, perching on the edge of the desk. He spoke with slow, deliberate emphasis. 'It's not very good.'_  
  
So why was he thinking about it now?  
  
From the other end of the sofa, curled up against the armrest with his feet tucked under Ignis' thigh, Prompto mumbled something. He'd drifted off to sleep perhaps half an hour ago, as safe and well-fed as anyone ever was these days. Ignis, practicing his braille with his right hand, let his left hand move absently to cover Prompto's bony ankles.  
  
His fingers traced out the pattern of the words, letter by letter, and he forced himself not to skip ahead and guess from first letter, length and context. Request for additional funding to allow creation of ten full time jobs to support work done on surveying housing structural integrity, details on page one, cost breakdown on page two...  
  
It had taken a while to learn braille. An agonising, humiliating, geological age of a while, it had felt like – not least because he had, in the first couple of years when he ought to have learnt, been distracted and dragging his feet besides. Lestallum was more amenable to leaning than Galdin Quay had been, however, and tenacity in studying and improving himself had turned out to be too ingrained in him to ignore entirely. He'd finally reached the point where he could read fluently, albeit slowly; just this one page had taken several long minutes, and since it was making up for his own defect he could hardly be proud of the achievement. Still, it was undeniable that it did make life easier. With practice, and Talcott getting quicker in translating text into braille for him, he hoped the complete illiteracy period of his adult life was coming to an end. Within limitations, of course.  
  
Prompto, too, had taken an interest in braille. He hadn't said anything about it, but occasionally Ignis had found his practice sheets in not quite the same place as he'd left them when they had no reason to be moved other than deliberate interest. When it happened Ignis at once felt warm, flushed with fondness, but wary too: it might well be entirely coincidental, and to caught presuming would be beyond embarrassing. Prompto did, after all, have better things to be doing with his time.  
  
Ignis lifted his visor to rub at his left eye, where the scar tissue was pulling, aching in the way it did sometimes. It was late; he could check the time but he didn't want to disturb Prompto, who wriggled a bit and mumbled some more. Dreaming? A good dream, or a bad one?  
  
Did he ever dream of memories? Of the things that had happened to him?  
  
A huff and Prompto kicked, gentle but persistent enough that his leg slid over Ignis' to stretch out across his lap. It was a warm, heavy weight; changing his mind Ignis put down his braille and shook Prompto by the hip. Regardless of the quality of the dream he would sleep better in an actual bed.  
  
'Huh? What's up?' Prompto's voice was rough, and he stretched out over the full length of the sofa, groaning.  
  
'Bed. You'll get a sore back if you sleep like that.'  
  
Prompto yawned. 'What's the time? ... quarter to two. All right, but you're coming with me.'  
  
There was more Ignis wanted to do before he slept, including at least an hour of braille practice, but Prompto was tugging at his sleeve and there was a weight to the room that night that felt particularly unpleasant. He realised he didn't want to leave Prompto alone, didn't want him where he couldn't hear his breathing and touch his soft, dry skin. He got up and let Prompto lead him into the bedroom with a hand on the small of his back. He didn't need leading; if anything he ought to be the one to guide Prompto, since the lights were presumably off and he was the one who'd got used to the shapes and corners of their rooms in the dark. He hadn't lived in Lestallum as long as he had Galdin Quay, but then – but then Galdin Quay was lost and thinking about it wasn't useful any more.  
  
They dressed, Ignis hanging his clothes in their places whilst being mindful of the new places Prompto had carved out for himself without even realising. He put his visor in its place on the bedside table, by the clock, where his spectacles would have gone. They'd already washed earlier, in the communal bathroom down the hall, so they slid straight into bed, Ignis first and Prompto soon after, curling up behind him to sling his arm over Ignis' waist and burrow a knee between Ignis' thighs.   
  
Prompto was clingy, but then he always had been, at least more so than average – inasmuch as Ignis could estimate an average of these things, since he'd had few relationships, and none this serious. And to be sure, the events that included losing Noct and sunlight and a large percentage of all humanity were bound to affect even the most stoic of people, of which Prompto was not. Regardless of all that, Prompto's kidnap and torment in Zegnautus Keep were undoubtedly profoundly traumatic. Even just hearing him tell of it – remembering him tell of it – made helpless, cold rage crawl up Ignis' spine, and added one more item to the list of things that kept him awake at night.  
  
And then there were the things Prompto did not tell of.  
  
Prompto hummed, pressing his lips against Ignis' neck. 'Stop thinking so hard,' he said. 'It's too loud. Can't sleep.'  
  
Ignis smiled despite himself. 'I shall endeavour to think more quietly.'  
  
'Nah, you need to stop.'  
  
'I'm afraid that's – _ah–'_  
  
Prompto's hand slipped under Ignis' t-shirt, fingertips tracing his navel before heading down to cup his cock through the fabric of his pyjamas. He rubbed his hips forwards against Ignis, teeth grazing the nape of Ignis' neck. 'C'mon, Iggy,' he said, the breath of it hot against Ignis' skin. 'Don't tell me I'm not more appealing than whatever stuffy thing you're thinking about.'  
  
'Well,' Ignis said, drawing out the word as he rolled his hips between Prompto's hand in front and cock behind. 'All right. I won't tell you.'  
  
'Rude!' Prompto tugged Ignis over onto his back and straddled his hips, leaning down to kiss him. 'I don't know why I love you.'  
  
'Because I'm a wonderful lover?' Hands on Prompto's waist, Ignis nipped Prompto's lower lip. 'A fantastically caring and considerate person?'  
  
Prompto's hand slipped down to cradle the back of Ignis' neck, laughing. 'Wow. Good thing I'm on top or I might've got crushed by that ego.'  
  
_'I won't keep you in suspense,' Radix said._ _'This is actually very good. Not perfect, but certainly a marked improvement!_ _'_  
  
_'_ Iggy?'  
  
_Ignis' heart beat hard, feeling like it might burst with shocked pride and relief. Radix, seeing his expression, grinned. 'I_ _really like the argument you made – let's see – here, where you reference_ _Nota, 741–'_  
  
'I,' Ignis said, then faltered. The easy banter dried up in his throat. Above him Prompto stopped still, tensing slightly, hand still on Ignis' neck.  
  
'Ignis?'  
  
Ignis pushed him back, gently, and Prompto slipped off to kneel by his side. 'Ah,' Ignis said. 'Apologies. My eye twinged.' He put a hand up to cover his left eye, pressing down with the heel of his palm. The texture of the scars scraped against the skin of his hand, the pressure sending an uneasy jolt into his skull, and he had to stop himself from pulling away sharply. He pressed a little harder instead, until he felt queasy with it. His throat bobbed and he swallowed, breathing deep.  
  
'Oh, shit. You okay? Do you need anything?'  
  
'No, it's fine now.' He took away his hand and pushed himself into sitting, leaning against the headboard; he was aware of Prompto hovering, but his limbs felt disjointed, ungainly, too weak to do anything. Was his heart beating harder than usual or did it just seem that way? 'Thank you.'  
  
'You sure? I'm sorry. Not that – I mean – I didn't cause it, right? Does it always happen?'  
  
Ignis found Prompto's shoulder and tugged him in, pulling him onto his lap. Prompto let him, collapsing down onto him in a jumble of limbs, twisting to rearrange himself into a more comfortable position: sideways on Ignis' lap, curled to lean his forehead on Ignis' shoulder. Ignis wrapped his arms around him.  
  
'I'm sure, and no, and no.' He rubbed gentle circles on Prompto's back, lifting his chin to allow Prompto to bury his face against Ignis' neck. 'It hasn't bothered me in a long time. I apologise for worrying you.'  
  
'Jeez,' Prompto said, muffled, humid on Ignis' skin. He'd gone limp, moulding himself against Ignis' body, a warm, malleable weight. 'Don't apologise for something like that.'  
  
'I do believe you started it.'  
  
'Hm?'  
  
'Never mind.'  
  
They sat for a while. Ignis listened to the sounds from outside – some kind of construction work, hauling building supplies through the streets – and carried on rubbing Prompto's back. His heart slowed to a steady pace. Prompto must be able to hear it from his position. The texture of lint on Prompto's top made Ignis think of braille, and he ran through the cells in his mind, spelling out the words of their short conversation.  
  
A slight movement; Prompto pressed his lips to Ignis' neck, hands snaking down to curl around his waist. 'D'you still want to...?'  
  
Ignis tilted Prompto's head up with one hand under his chin and kissed his way down his face to find his lips. Prompto wriggled to straddle Ignis' lap, rocking his hips as they made out, deepening the kiss, slow and lazy and, Ignis noticed, just a touch more careful than usual. Then Prompto shifted and the press of his cock against Ignis', hot even through the layers of their clothes, sparked arousal through him, suddenly insistent; as Prompto rolled his hips a little harder he broke the kiss to groan into Prompto's mouth.  
  
Even without seeing him, he could tell Prompto was grinning. It was infectious – Ignis felt his own lips quirk up.  
  
With one smooth motion he lifted Prompto, pushed him back, and fell forwards onto his hands and knees above him. The bed creaked, drowning out Prompto's noise of surprise, and Ignis didn't wait before pushing up Prompto's t-shirt and kissing his stomach, then up to his nipples. He pressed a wet kiss to each, and tugged gently with his teeth until Prompto arched up with a gasp, squirming under him as Ignis licked down from his sternum, over his navel, to the soft trail of hair leading down his belly. Ignis' cock throbbed, wanting attention, but he ignored it.  
  
'Quiet, now,' Ignis said against Prompto's skin as he tugged down Prompto's underwear just far enough to free his cock, bumping up against his face as it sprung free. Hands wound into his hair, trembling a little as they strained not to fight against the way he traced soft kisses up the length of Prompto's cock, licking at it with the very tip of his tongue. He tasted pre-come, a hot, salty bead of it, and he put his lips to the slit and sucked gently. Keeping his hands on Prompto's hips, holding him still as possible as he wriggled, Ignis smiled to hear Prompto's broken groan, stuttering, muffled presumably with one of his forearms. He lapped at the tight skin between shaft and head of Prompto's cock, and it twitched, bobbing away then back up to tap at Ignis' lips, until Ignis pressed it down and held it gently between his mouth and Prompto's stomach. Ignis could smell sweat, and musk, and the heat of Prompto's skin felt pleasantly scalding on his lips.  
  
'Iggy – oh, shit, Iggy, you gotta stop teasing–' Prompto was out of breath, voice strained. He bucked and whined as Ignis took the head of his cock into his mouth, sucking hard just for a second before releasing it with a wet pop.  
  
Had Ardyn touched Prompto here, on this same skin Ignis was now touching?  
  
Had he played games with him, or had his torment been more straightforward?  
  
Ignis leant forwards to swallow down Prompto's cock until it bumped the back of his throat, then a little more until there was none left to take in. He rocked back to move with Prompto's uncontrolled thrust up into his mouth, clenching his throat against the urge to gag. He could hear Prompto's little breathy cries and taste pre-come on the back of his tongue; Prompto's cock was a fat, heavy weight pressing down on his tongue, nudging his soft palate. The bedsheets were tangled up under his knees; the bed creaked with Prompto's squirming. His nose pressed up against Prompto's pubis, rough hair on his skin and the smell of sweat and arousal and faint soap, and his own cock, hard enough to ache, strained, pinned in his underwear. Everything came together in a sensory overload, like wildfire through his nerves, desperate, heavy, wanting, and it was all he could do to focus on Prompto's cock in his mouth, the little moans and gasps he wrung from Prompto's mouth. The fingers in his hair tightened, edging on painful as he bobbed his head: shallow, quick little movements, alternating between deep-throating and taking in only the head between his lips, tongue playing across the underside of it. Under his hands Prompto's thighs tensed and trembled, hot and sweat-slicked. His own cock throbbed, his hips rocking without him meaning them to, searching for friction, trying to distract him from the hot satisfaction of pulling those trembling, needy sounds from between Prompto's lips. Sweat collected on the small of his back, sticking his clothes to his skin.  
  
Prompto gasped a warning, his legs jerking up to clutch at Ignis' chest with his knees, holding him in place as he came with a muffled sob. The taste of it coated Ignis' mouth as he swallowed and sucked down the last of Prompto's orgasm, then moved the few inches to press gentle kisses to the inside of Prompto's thighs, still trembling, as he gasped for his breath back. After a long moment Prompto pushed Ignis away, rolling them over and straddling Ignis' thighs.  
  
'I want your dick,' he said, still winded, tugging at Ignis' clothes. 'C'mon, Iggy, move.'  
  
Ignis braced his feet to raise up his hips and thighs, lifting Prompto with them and making him gasp a laugh as he wobbled, still pulling at the waist of Ignis' pyjamas. He got them down to mid-thigh and left them there, pushing Ignis back down to the mattress with one hand and grasping his cock with the other.  
  
'Careful– _'_ Ignis managed, before he bit down on his bottom lip and failed to stop the embarrassingly loud groan that came with the way Prompto was stroking him, hard and fast. 'I won't – I – _ah_ – not going to last long with you–'  
  
His hips bucked upwards as Prompto took away his hand, a whine building in his chest he had to stifle. Then Prompto was back above him, legs spread wide as he knelt over Ignis' hips with Ignis' cock pressed in the cleft of his tight, perfect arse, and rocked his hips to rub himself against it.  
  
'Lube,' Ignis said, even as he was forcibly reminded of the time, months ago, Prompto had said _I'm gonna ride you like a chocobo –_ he'd laughed, which had made Prompto laugh, both of them harder and harder until the mood had been utterly ruined. 'Prompto. Lube,' he said again, hoarser, because Prompto was panting and Ignis could feel the rub of his hole on his cock as Prompto moved against him. He grabbed Prompto by the hips, succeeding in halting him but only to wind up thrusting up himself as the lack of friction became unbearable. Prompto laughed around his panting, and finally leant over to grab the lube from the bedside table. The sound of the cap popping off sent a shiver of heat down Ignis to his already aching cock, pooling in his belly; the muscles in his stomach and lower back tensed, trembling with impatience.  
  
'Do you need any help?' he said, only slightly breathless as the mattress dipped over his left shoulder – Prompto bracing himself on one hand, the other presumably the source of the wet sounds further down the bed.  
  
Prompto made a noise between his teeth, a hiss that turned into a moan, short and stuttering. 'I got it,' he said, tight and low. His hand on the mattress moved to brace against Ignis' hip, and his other hand grasped Ignis' cock, positioning it as he sat down onto it.  
  
Ignis' whole body seemed to tense, all at once, tangled up in the overwhelming sensation of heat and wet tightness. Then his ribs relaxed just enough for him to gasp a breath, and his hips and thighs and lower back enough to make a short, hard thrust up. His shoulders rolled back into the mattress, hands clenching at the sheets, and he was struck by the feeling of being pinned by the weight of Prompto's gaze on him, Prompto's expectation, the importance of his visible enjoyment to Prompto's enjoyment. The urge to close his right eye dug into him, absurd but insistent. It was already closed.  
  
His spine arched, cumulating in another tight roll of his hips, and Prompto groaned his appreciation. His hands were sweaty as they gripped at Ignis, and his thighs trembling as he lifted himself to rock down and meet Ignis' next thrust up. 'Yeah,' he said, barely more than a gasp. 'Fuck, Iggy, fuck–'  
  
Ignis was tugged to orgasm like a fish hooked on Noct's – on a fishing line, pulled in and in inexorably. His hands reached up, searching out Prompto's thighs, his waist and clinging to his arms – at some point Prompto had removed his top, and his bare skin was hot, damp with sweat, and taut around his lean runner's muscles. It took a moment to realise that Prompto had a hand on his own cock, and Ignis batted it away so he could wrap his hand around it instead, sliding his thumb up the underside with just the amount of pressure he knew would make Prompto moan and clench down hard around him.  
  
_'Ignis, I don't know what to say. Your last essay_ _was_ _so promising, and now this?_ _'_  
  
He came, the orgasm yanked from his body, the tension and coiled pleasure all released at once, sweeping through him like a bolt of magic. Biting down on his forearm in an effort not to shout he grasped for Prompto, pawing at him, uncoordinated and graceless – Prompto trembled as he rolled his hips, squeezing out the last drops of Ignis' orgasm into his arse, hot and tight. Ignis' ears were ringing; he had to remove his arm so he could breathe, feeling winded, thread-bare and fragile, and he put his hands on Prompto's waist. Another roll of Prompto's hips and Ignis' cock, now softening, slipped out of him.  
  
_'Frankly speaking, it's a disgrace._ _Did you even try?_ _'_  
  
Prompto's thighs tensed, tightening over Ignis hips, and Prompto whimpered through his orgasm. His hand crashed down onto Ignis' shoulder, hard enough to hurt, and gripped it. His body jerked, rocking hard and uneven little thrusts against Ignis' sweat-slicked stomach, the motion jogging the breathy moans still falling from his open mouth, and Ignis held his face in his hands to pull him to kiss. Prompto slowly relaxed into it, then rolled over to one side, limbs splayed, boneless.  
  
By the time Ignis had washed himself with a bottle of water and cloth he kept in the bedside table, to avoid the post-sex trek to the bathroom, and knelt on the bed to wipe Prompto down, Prompto was mostly asleep. He grumbled as Ignis rolled him over to get between his legs, squirming a little at the cool, damp touch of the cloth. When Ignis had finished and tucked himself in behind Prompto, Prompto was pliant, his breathing slow and deepened in sleep.  
  
They were naked, pressing skin against skin. He was tired in the pleasant, achy way sex always made him feel. It was nothing at all like sleeping next to Noct.


	2. Chapter 2

Prompto hadn't said up-front how long he'd be in Lestallum for, and gave only a vague answer when Ignis had asked. Ignis didn't press any further in case the answer was one he didn't want.  
  
During the day Prompto trained up new hunters and gave, Ignis heard, incredibly awkward, earnest lectures on daemons and their strengths and weaknesses. He went out on short, local hunts, keeping the roads and grounds immediately around Lestallum clear. Ignis worked on the same old things as he always did – the housing crisis, the water supply, the politics of how to peacefully dissuade whichever person or group was making a power-grab that month. He practiced walking both with his cane and without it. He practiced braille, and being able to eat when he couldn't see his plate, and dressing himself, and ignoring what people were saying when they thought he couldn't hear him. When he was certain he was alone – which was not often, because how could he tell someone wasn't watching? How could he know they were there if all they had to do to hide was not speak? – he took out his daggers, holding them and trying not to think about how much he'd lost.  
  
He'd start training again soon. Not today, but soon.  
  
_'Good morning! You said you drink coffee, didn't you? I wasn't sure_ _how_ _you like_ _it,_ _but here's it black and I have cream and sugar if you want_ _them_ _...'_  
  
He and Prompto arrived home more or less at the same time, since Ignis could bring most of his work back with him – security being non-existent, compared to the endless bureaucratic hoops he'd had to jump through in Insomnia. Then Ignis would cook with what limited ingredients they had, in the half of the living room he had designated as kitchen space, and Prompto would do his best to help.  
  
Ignis didn't know how long Prompto meant to stay for, but he counted the days as they passed, and eventually it became the longest they'd been together since losing Noct. He didn't comment; Prompto didn't either. Perhaps he hadn't realised the significance of of the date, or perhaps he didn't care.  
  
That morning Ignis woke up next to Prompto, as he almost always did. His heart was beating hard, as it often did. He'd dreamt about Galdin Quay again. Angelgard.  
  
It was already over. Too late to do anything about it but agonise uselessly. Ignis turned over, trying to replace the dream with the morning reality. The bed was warm, smelling faintly of sweat and sleeping bodies. He needed to wash the sheets, though he was dangerously low on detergent. Prompto breathed softly on his right. The sounds of overcrowded Lestallum filtered in from the closed window on his left. The clock on his bedside table, glass cover removed so he could feel the position of the hands, told him it was five forty-five.  
  
If he'd been alone he'd have got up, eaten breakfast, and started on the day's work. As it was Ignis sat up, propping up his pillow to cushion his back from the hard slats of the headboard, and gently reached out to find the soft mess of Prompto's hair. He combed out a few tangles with his fingers, stroking until he couldn't find any more, then contented himself with simply burrowing his fingers into the warmth of it. The dream had faded. Prompto turned slightly, pressing his face down into the pillow, then sighed and rolled onto his back.  
  
The skin on his face had faint lines where the pillow cover had creased and pressed against him. His lips were dry and the skin of his eyelids thin, fragile, and so very soft. He had a trail of little scabs just above his left eyebrow: a long, thin scratch. A little stubble graced his cheeks, patchy, peach-fuzz. His straight, thin nose, his cheekbones, the line of his jaw. The air of his breath was humid against Ignis' palm as Ignis traced his cheeks. Were they a little shallower than they had been? Had he lost weight?  
  
How long would it be before Ignis forgot the exact colour of his hair and eyes, the tone of his skin, the way his freckles multiplied in the sun? When would touch no longer be able to reinforce that memory of sight, and simply be all he had?  
  
Would he remember Noct's face? The last thing he'd ever see.  
  
_Radix sighed. 'I don't understand why you're struggling to this extent_ _, I really don't. H_ _elp me out here. I've spoken to your other tutors and by all accounts you're excelling in every other topic. So what is it about this you're not getting?'_  
  
_'I – I suppose I just don't have a head for it. I'm trying, sir, I swear I am.'_  
  
_'I know, of course I do. I wouldn't keep you on if you weren't. But we need to do something_ _to turn this around, and quickly_ _._ _Your review is coming up and – well._ _'_  
  
He hadn't told anyone what had happened with Ardyn except for the strict basics, the fundamentals written right there on his face, and even they were deceptive. If either Gladio or Prompto had noticed the ring by his hand they hadn't mentioned it. Was that better or worse than them assuming Ardyn had tortured Ignis to blindness and left his unconscious body out in the rain?  
  
Prompto had told them his story in detail, though it had been convoluted at best. Several times he'd backtracked, edited his own wording, got confused – but then that was generally how Prompto told stories, rushing ahead to the main parts before realising he'd missed out something vital, needing to stop and explain something he'd left ambiguous, getting caught up in an insignificant detail and derailing himself. It said nothing per se. It neither confirmed nor denied Prompto keeping at least some of the story to himself.  
  
_'Here we go, Ignis_ _, the new lesson plans_ _._ _The long and short of it is_ _, since_ _i_ _t's clear that simple lectures aren't doing it for you, so I've dug out some case_ _studies_ _and we can work on them together._ _But read it all through and_ _tell me what you think_ _._ _'_  
  
Shouting on the street below and Prompto's brow furrowed. Ignis caught the motion against his fingertips and, with gentle pressure, smoothed it away into slackness.  
  
What did it matter that Prompto may or may not have told them everything? Secrets were important. Sometimes the sharing of pain didn't make the pain better; sometimes it made it worse. Ignis only wanted what would be best for him. If that left Ignis ignorant, kept the dark, kept away from the hurtful details, who was he to object? He only wanted what was best for Prompto.  
  
If there were any details to share. Which there may well not be.  
  
Ignis realised he was frowning himself. Prompto was extroverted – he gained his energy from other people. He outsourced his opinions and in return left his emotions lying around like ambient lighting; he was as self-contained as a thrift store. But under that all there was a guardedness, an anxiety; he clutched tight the things he did keep secret, and hid them well.  
  
There were all sorts of reasons he might not want to share what had happened with Ardyn.  
  
With his free hand Ignis checked the time. He didn't have a working alarm clock – his phone he used only when he had to, to preserve the battery and therefore Lestallum's suffering electrical supply – but it was very rare that he didn't wake reliably on time, or before it. Five past six. Still a short while more to let Prompto sleep. At least he could get up and ready in a reasonable amount of time, unlike–  
  
Unlike Noct.  
  
Ignis' hand on Prompto's face fell still, faltering. He forced it to move again, to feel the curves and planes of him.  
  
It hurt, as it had hurt for the past five years. But never mind.  
  
Prompto's skin was soft, smooth, flushed with sleep. Ignis slid down to lie next to him and press a kiss to his shoulder, slinging his arm over the top of him. He could hear his heartbeat, slow and steady. If he could only hold on to him tighter, look after him better, keep him safe–  
  
In this world? Unlikely. Blind? Impossible.  
  
He hadn't been able to save him from Ardyn. Ardyn had had him for days. What couldn't he have done, in those days? Not much. And whatever it had been, Ignis didn't know.  
  
He wanted to open Prompto up to find what was hidden inside. He wanted to touch him, pick him apart, understand him. He wanted the guarantee that whatever he was doing, he would know exactly how it would affect Prompto, good or bad. What if he could peel away the outer layers of Prompto to uncover the foundations, the positions of the joists, the material of the insulation? He wanted to know each and every detail. He hadn't been there for so much of Prompto's life, after all, and a large part of what he did know came from the unreliable source of other people's opinions. There was so much of him Ignis didn't know. He wanted to know what had happened with Ardyn.  
  
That was not, for the most part, what people liked to hear. He very much doubted Prompto would like to hear it either.  
  
It was time they got up.  
  
'Prompto,' he said, levering himself up onto one elbow, and lifted a hand to trace the outline of Prompto's cheek. 'Prompto, wake up.'  
  
Prompto made an inarticulate sound, still more than half asleep. Instead of waking he grasped at Ignis and pulled him down to burrow his face into the crook of Ignis' neck, dragging him tight into the tangle of his arms and legs.  
  
It wasn't that Ignis didn't appreciate these things – because he did, very much – just the understanding that he didn't deserve them. Because he didn't deserve Prompto's smile (that Ignis couldn't see any more), or his casual, loose-limbed affection, his willingness to believe the best in people. His earnestness, his playfulness, the way he fell head-over-heels in love twice a week. Noct deserved Prompto. Gladio did, possibly, if only he could rein in his temper.  
  
'Good morning,' Ignis said, combing his fingers through the tangle of hair at the back of Prompto's head, where it had previously been hidden. 'Time to get up, I'm afraid.'  
  
'No,' Prompto said, mumbling the word into Ignis' skin. 'Ten more minutes.'  
  
'Five.'  
  
Prompto made a noise somewhere between a groan and a whine. 'Fifteen.'  
  
'You know that's not how bartering works.'  
  
'No.'  
  
Was he copying Noct on purpose, or was it coincidence? He was used to early mornings and the clearness of his voice gave away the fact that he was now fully awake.  
  
'We're going to be late.'  
  
'Don't care. And no we won't.'  
  
It was true, so Ignis couldn't really argue. He sighed and gathered Prompto up in his arms to roll them over, him on his back and Prompto sprawled out on top of him.  
  
'What would I do without you?' he said, without meaning to, then wished he'd kept quiet.  
  
Prompto snorted a quiet laugh against his collarbone, wriggling a little to better fit himself against Ignis. His stomach, relaxed, soft and warm, lay on top Ignis'; their breathing pressed them together. 'Here I was thinking the same thing,' he said.  
  
A slight pause. 'We should get up.'  
  
'Nah. Maybe you should have thought of that before you made yourself so comfy.'  
  
'Comfortable,' Ignis murmured. Prompto didn't dignify that with a response.  
  
They lapsed back into silence. Ignis was pinned so he couldn't check the time. Well, never mind. He wouldn't actually be late unless they stayed in bed for another half an hour or more, which was unlikely. And, well, this was nice. Lying here, under the unescapable weight and warmth of Prompto.  
  
Would he be so free with his physical affections had Ardyn tormented him? Prompto was supremely flighty, and yet, rebounds were also a thing. And it had been years, after all.  
  
'Mmm.' Prompto lifted his head, just fractionally. 'Hey, we should go visit Hammerhead. Try pin down Gladio for a while. Like old times.'  
  
He sounded casual, but in the sort of way that meant he was deliberately trying to sound so and was not, therefore, casual at all. That and the suggestion itself – go to Hammerhead; leave Lestallum; see Gladio – made Ignis tense. It was only barely so, and had Prompto been anywhere but lying directly on top of him, he wouldn't have noticed at all.  
  
It was a bad idea, and all the reasons it was a bad idea flooded into Ignis at once. The roads were not safe. He would be little help in a fight. What use would he be in Hammerhead when they arrived? Prompto and Gladio could hunt, but him? He barely knew how to cook, and that was only in his own space where he knew exactly where everything was. Gladio would expect him to be better at fighting – better at everything – than he was by far, when the reality was that he hadn't practiced with his weapons since he'd lost Galdin Quay, and that was shameful beyond measure. He knew where things were in Lestallum – the staircases, the side streets, the shop he always went to because they would find and bag up his purchases for him. Trying to navigate Hammerhead would be one long nightmare, even with Prompto's help. He didn't want Prompto's help. Here, he was almost capable. Anywhere else?  
  
It would be closer to what was left of Galdin Quay, true, but not in any way that mattered. There wasn't any way that mattered, now that Galdin Quay was gone, and Noct was gone, and–  
  
'I don't think,' Ignis said, then faltered. 'I've been extraordinarily busy at work, and I don't think they can spare me the time it would take to make a proper trip out of it.'  
  
He could imagine Prompto's disappointment; sympathy for it bit hard in Ignis' own chest. The idea had clearly meant a lot to him. 'Of course, it might be possible to lure Gladio here,' he said, even as he firstly realised that he didn't want that either but could hardly say so, and secondly that it wasn't about Gladio or him, it was about Prompto wanting to escape Lestallum. Both thoughts hit him hard and out of nowhere. He had to swallow away the way his throat had tightened suddenly. 'Or, you could go on your own. There are regular trading parties and I'm sure you'll have no problem getting on one as a guard. There might even be one in the next few days.'  
  
Prompto didn't reply.  
  
'How long do you think you'll be gone for?'  
  
For a second that stretched out agonisingly long, cold and terrible in its clarity, Ignis thought that Prompto would say he didn't intend to return.  
  
'Never mind. It's nothing, forget I said anything.' Prompto had that casual voice, still. 'We can wait until your work is less busy.'  
  
It didn't make sense as an answer, but Prompto clearly wanted to drop it and Ignis was only too happy to oblige. He lifted his hands to stroke down Prompto's back, from shoulders to his flanks, feeling the muscle and bones of him. He was too thin. He'd lost muscle mass as well as what little fat he'd had before.  
  
The urge to feed him was sharp and unfortunate. He wanted to prepare him curry, thick and rich, with ten types of spice he didn't have, colouring red the floating beads of fat, melted off the meat he didn't have. He wanted to bake him pie, bursting with thick-cut steak, juicy, peppery, soaked in gravy, the golden crust buttery and crisp. Dense chocolate cake, made with beaten egg whites and blocks of exquisite dark chocolate, served with pears poached in spiced wine and creme de cassis. Fresh fruit, ripe and sweet and so juicy Prompto would barely be able to eat it without dripping it everywhere. He wanted to slave over the stove for hours to make consommé, deep amber in colour and beautifully clear, garnished with royale, that would be gulped down in less than thirty seconds. He wanted to ply Prompto with food. He wanted to see him eat it.  
  
They kissed, though more out of habit than anything else, Ignis thought. Prompto kept it chaste for the most part, lips closed and moving back when Ignis tried to press forwards, though quick to return and feather kisses across Ignis' lips and nose and eyelids. After a minute they stopped. Prompto sighed and shuffled back to rest his head on Ignis' sternum.  
  
'Hey, Ignis?'  
  
'Yes?'  
  
Prompto shifted a little, rearranging his arms. 'Can you be honest a second? This isn't about Hammerhead, don't worry.'  
  
Ignis sifted through his responses, discarding a more flippant reply for something simple but hopefully reassuring. 'I can do my best. Why?'  
  
'I just...' Turning his head, Prompto buried his face below Ignis' armpit, and Ignis stroked his back. 'Do I make you happy?'  
  
Ignis stopped short in surprise. That was not been what he'd been expecting, and his stomach turned with the nauseating feeling of knowing he'd misstepped. Made a mistake. He'd done something wrong, but what? What had he done to make Prompto question that? 'Of course you do,' he said, belatedly resuming stroking, trying and failing to push down the way his stomach was turning. This wasn't about him. This was about Prompto. 'What made you think you don't?'  
  
Prompto turned again, making as if to roll off until Ignis caught him and held him tight to his chest. Prompto didn't struggle, but he still moved to press his face into Ignis' chest, then against his other arm, as if trying to avoid meeting his eyes. 'I mean,' he said, 'you're not just looking after me because, I dunno. Noct told you to or something.'  
  
'Of course not. That's a ridiculous thought.' Ignis hesitated a small laugh. 'I know I did a lot for him, but if you think Noct could have ordered me to do this...'  
  
'Do me,' Prompto said, and Ignis could feel the smile against his arm. He couldn't quite manage to match it. He knew that Prompto felt inadequate and needy of reassurance. He knew Prompto still didn't think he held a tenth of the worth he did. He knew these things, and yet he'd still managed to forget to do anything about it. How could he have been so stupid?  
  
'Prompto, I care for you so much it frightens me. You make me happier than anyone–'  
  
'Anyone except Noct.'  
  
'And that is considerably happy. Massively so. I may not be very good at expressing myself, but you should know that of course you make me happy. Now more than ever.'  
  
Prompto didn't reply.  
  
'Do you believe me?'  
  
'I guess. Yeah.'  
  
Another short silence.  
  
'Can I ask what brought this on?'  
  
'Nmm. I'd say never mind but you're gonna mind, aren't you.'  
  
'I would be lying if I disagreed, but if you truly don't want to say then I won't press you.'  
  
'It's only that...' Prompto trailed off. He plucked at Ignis' sleeve, probably a loose thread – and it bothered Ignis that there were loose threads he couldn't find any more – then shifted back over to rest his head again on Ignis' sternum. 'It's dumb, because we're in this shitty, constant night, daemons everywhere, stupid death-world, and of course you'd have to be a terrible person to actually be _happy_ happy, but...'  
  
You thought I'd be happier to have you live with me, Ignis thought, though he kept his mouth shut. I've been distracted and uncaring, he thought.  
  
_'How do you feel about the case studies?' Radix said._  
  
_'Oh.' Ignis tried to smile, but he'd spent hours studying just so he could understand the terminology of the first lesson, then hours more for the homework_ _itself_ _, and he was exhausted. 'I think – it's quite hard, but it's worth trying since I was so bad with the lectures.'_  
  
_Radix laughed. 'That's good. Just glancing over your work here shows at least some of it sank in. Well done!'_  
  
_'Oh – oh, I mean, really?' The cobwebs blew away, his heart beating hard all of a sudden. 'That is, thank you!'_  
  
_Radix tousled Ignis' hair_ _,_ _and left his hand on his shoulder. 'See, I_ _told you_ _you were worth_ _keeping on.'_  
  
'I'm sorry,' Prompto said.  
  
'No, don't be. I'm sorry you ever had reason to doubt yourself.'  
  
'Yeah.' He pressed a kiss to Ignis' chest, though Ignis could hardly feel it through the fabric of his top. 'Still.'


	3. Chapter 3

That he needed to do something to stop Prompto thinking Ignis' problems were his own fault – that they stemmed from him instead of Ignis' uselessness – was obvious. There were several new things he could think of in their relationship, starting with Prompto moving in and carrying on through the new jobs he'd taken at work, to the collapse of a trading route that Prompto had been helping guard. There was also, of course, how much Ignis had been thinking about Radix. How much he'd allowed himself to wallow in his own childishness.  
  
Of all the things, it had to be Radix. Prompto had even brought it up. He'd told Ignis he felt unappreciated. What else could have caused that but Ignis' obsession with the past?  
  
He would stop. He would do better, because Prompto deserved better.  
  
The first night after he resolved to stop thinking about Radix, Galdin Quay, and other, unhelpful things, he dreamt of Ardyn.  
  
On his back, in bed, with his arms around Ardyn's neck, holding on to his one source of comfort. Afraid and hurting. He was crying.  
  
He woke up with a jolt, his whole body tensing at once. His heart was racing. Absent of anything to replace it, the image of the dream pressed down on him – no. He could and would control himself. That was nothing more than a fabrication, a foolish nightmare. He was in his bed in Lestallum. Someone was breathing beside him, close but not quite close enough to touch.  
  
Prompto. It was Prompto. He knew it but couldn't quite convince all of himself of the fact; some part of him insisted it was not.  
  
A dream – how absurd that all it took was a single dream to throw him so entirely. He forced his breathing to slow, but felt suffocated by his own restriction; his heart continued to pound. Unable to reach right, towards Prompto, he turned left and checked the time. Four-thirty. No hope of simply waiting for Prompto to wake up and confirm his presence, then, unless he was happy waiting for hours. And past experience told him he wouldn't be falling asleep any time soon, either.  
  
He reached to the right. Prompto's arm was warm. His shoulder and face were lax with sleep. What was he dreaming of, if anything? Did he ever dream of Ardyn?  
  
He wanted to wrap Prompto up, hold him tight and close.  
  
There were a lot of things he wanted, it seemed, and few of them very realistic. But this one was manageable.  
  
Prompto mumbled wordlessly into his shoulder as Ignis gently pulled him on top of himself, careful not to wake him. Prompto made a grumbling sound and shifted to get comfortable, but didn't wake any further than that. Noct would have stayed fast asleep and motionless at all but the most violent of jostling. Noct was not here.  
  
The heat and solid weight pressing Ignis into the mattress were, if not quite comforting, then anchoring. With his hands on the small of Prompto's back, Prompto's face pressed into the crook of his neck, and one of Prompto's legs tucked between his and the other sprawled off to one side, he felt closed in. Secured down. It was a childish feeling, equally powerful and humiliating for its childishness, but as much as he hated humiliation he was also familiar with it. And he wanted security more than not wanting humiliation.  
  
Still, something was wrong. Something was slipping from his control, turning into a slow-motion tailspin, and nothing he did seemed to put right it again.  
  
He hated not being in control. He hated that he couldn't do anything about it but carry on and pretend it wasn't happening. What had happened? He'd been fine. He'd accepted his blindness, Noct's absence, Insomnia's fall, Galdin Quay, the loss of the sun, this world of ruin, his own uselessness. He'd accepted Radix, years and years ago. He'd been fine. Why wasn't he fine now?  
  
Prompto's hair tickled his cheek. He pushed his hands under Prompto's t-shirt, feeling the expanse of skin for any new injuries and finding none. At the contact, perhaps, Prompto arched his back first up against his hands then down, rolling his spine to press his whole body against Ignis'. He wormed his hands into Ignis' armpits and gripped the fabric of his top, mumbling something undecipherable into Ignis' neck.  
  
_Radix put his hand on Ignis' thigh –_ no. If he couldn't help his dreams then at least he could control himself whilst awake.  
  
It took a second to realise the mumbles had stopped being mumbles and started being little kisses, clumsy and uncoordinated. Then Prompto tucked his head under Ignis' chin, sighed, and fell back asleep.  
  
Two hours later he woke himself up by rolling off Ignis and getting tangled in the bed covers. He untangled himself, stretched to pop his shoulders, and turned over to fling an arm over Ignis' stomach and stop him from moving away.  
  
'Mornin'.'  
  
'Good morning.'  
  
'It's Saturday. Sleep in.'  
  
Ignis laughed. 'I've been lying here too long for that to be very tempting, I'm afraid. But if you want I can cook us something nice for breakfast.'  
  
A slight pause. Prompto moved his head, possibly to look at him.  
  
'Sweet, or savoury?' Ignis said. He could imagine Prompto squinting at him, trying to work out whether he wanted the food or the lie-in more. He deserved better than he got, Ignis thought, not for the first time.  
  
'Sweet,' Prompto said. 'You never offer to make sweet things for breakfast.'  
  
'Dessert for breakfast is a travesty,' Ignis said, and laughed at the offended huff it earned him, even as he wondered what he could manage with the few ingredients he had. 'But perhaps I can make an exception this time. Come on, up. I'm going to need your help.'  
  
Prompto stayed back as, in their little kitchen area, Ignis got out the necessary ingredients and utensils from their proper places, placing them in a row on the counter. It wasn't strictly necessary with Prompto there, since he could simply ask to be handed any of the items, but it was something he needed to reinforce into true, thoughtless habit. After all, Prompto would not always be there.  
  
Cooking was something he'd eased himself back into. With Prompto's eyes and hands there were things he could do now that he couldn't alone – or not yet, anyway. There were still some things Ignis didn't quite trust Prompto to do – he broke eggs into a bowl himself, scooping out the yolks with his hands to move them to a second bowl. Prompto's success rate at breaking eggs without breaking the yolk was still abysmally low. After rinsing his hands he gave the bowl of whites and a whisk to Prompto. 'I need this to be thick and fluffy,' he said. 'Stop when it can just hold a peak; don't over-beat it. Better too little than too much.'  
  
A large handful of fruit came out of the freezer to thaw by the oven, which was, ironically enough, better than the one even in Noct's own flat back in Insomnia – at least in function, if not cost or modern sleekness. Lestallum was far more serious about its home cooking than Insomnia had been, it seemed, and scavenging an apartment that had the remains of a good kitchen had been easy enough.  
  
For all that they were without electric whisks, so the egg whites under Prompto's attention, and the yolks, which Ignis beat with a little sugar, needed a fair while and one or two comments from Prompto about his arm hurting before they were ready. To fill the silence Ignis explained about the ideal conditions in which to beat egg white (the bowl shouldn't be plastic, or too small – a large copper bowl was ideal but alas those were rather hard to come by these days – and the presence of fat, including egg yolk, would make it unnecessarily difficult. The eggs were best if fresh but if stale a small pinch of salt would help). At Prompto's request he then tested the whites by dipping in a finger ('what does that even mean, "hold a peak"...' Prompto said).  
  
He folded the whites and yolks together himself, since being suitably gentle to beaten egg white was another area his trust in Prompto was lacking. Instead Prompto melted butter in a frying pan and gently patted the now defrosted fruit dry: raspberries and blackberries, and a few redcurrants. 'Turn the heat down,' Ignis said as he poured the eggs into the frying pan, 'if it's not already. And scatter the fruit on top.'  
  
'Low heat, got it. Fruit on top. They're sinking. Is that okay?'  
  
'That's fine. Now, turn on the grill and watch the omelette. Take the spatula, the black one, and – not now, in a few minutes – gently lift the edge to see if it's golden underneath. When it is, put it under the grill just long enough to brown the top.'  
  
He washed up the bowls and whisks whilst they were waiting, and listened to the sounds of Prompto hovering by the pan, tapping the spatula on the handle and shuffling his feet.  
  
_Radix –_ no. Not now. _'You always try_ _extraordinarily_ _hard. That's a very admirable trait, Ignis.'_  
  
'I mean,' Prompto said, as he slid the pan into the oven. 'It's kinda weird, don't you think?'  
  
'How do you mean?'  
  
'The fruit... in an omelette. Fruit omelette. With sugar and beaten eggs. Sugary fruit omelette for breakfast. That's weird, right? Right? Tell me this isn't some messed up dream and when I wake up and tell you about it you're gonna be really, really offended.'  
  
Ignis, caught off guard, laughed. 'I will admit, it is an odd recipe, but an entirely legitimate one all the same. Try to think of it more as a variation on a soufflé.'  
  
He wanted to cross the space between them and find Prompto, remind himself of how solid and warm and real he was. He held back, running his fingers along the insides of the bowls to make sure they were clean. They were.  
  
'Honestly, that doesn't help. Soufflés are hard to get right and that's pretty much all I know about 'em. Cheese soufflé? No, wait, that's cheese fondue, isn't it?'  
  
'No, you're right, cheese soufflé's are indeed a thing. And they're not so hard to get right, though I suppose a step up from the more basic cakes and suchlike. All you need is to have a decent recipe and the ability to follow it.'  
  
'Right, but that's easy for you to say Master Chef Ignis. I bet if I tried I'd... I dunno, what's a really bad soufflé like?'  
  
'Flat,' Ignis said, lips quirking into a smile as he finished washing the dishes and turned, leaning his hip against the counter. 'Chewy, tough. Or you could go the other way and have it soupy and undercooked.'  
  
'Right, so I'd probably make one with a gross lil' chewy pancake top and all soup beneath, or something. No idea how, but I'd do it.'  
  
'You underestimate yourself. You did half the work here; is our omelette terribly wrong?'  
  
A short pause as Prompto moved, told by the dry sound of his clothes. 'No. Well, I mean, other than in it existing.'  
  
'How rude – after I invite you into my house...'  
  
Prompto's laugh preceded him by a second, and Ignis would have been knocked back a step had he not already been up against the counter. Wrapping his arms around Ignis' waist, Prompto reached up and kissed him: little, short kisses to the side of his mouth. 'I'm sorry! It's just so weird! It's you cooking so I bet it's nice and all, but... come on, fruit omelette, man.'  
  
Instead of having to admit that he'd chosen the recipe because they were out of flour, milk, and bread, Ignis leant down to kiss Prompto more properly. 'Broadening your horizons is never a bad thing,' he said, when they broke apart. 'But if you don't like it I can reheat last night's leftovers. It's not the sweet breakfast I promised, but I won't be offended.'  
  
Prompto gasped, and twisted to mock-swoon in Ignis' arms. 'How romantic.'  
  
_Radix said –_ no. He wouldn't think about it. _Radix's hands –_ no. Stop it.  
  
He realised he was stiff, tense, and Prompto shimmied up and out of his arms before he could manage not to be. Prompto was fine, he told himself. Prompto could deal with his traumas without disturbing and offending others. Why couldn't he?   
  
Prompto wasn't saying anything. Prompto, last night, asked him if he made Ignis happy.  
  
Prompto and his traumas. Ardyn.  
  
'Can you check on the omelette?' Ignis said, because in distracting himself from his own useless past he'd just made himself think about Prompto, and Ardyn, and the y-shaped frame Gladio had unwillingly described to him. He'd only done it after a fight, which Ignis had won with the underhanded weapons of guilt and his own blindness.  
  
Prompto, Ardyn, and the y-shaped frame. Nothing had happened. Prompto had not said anything had happened, and even if Ignis knew better than that it was still proper – for Prompto's sake – that he also know that nothing had happened.  
  
He was so angry at the thought he felt hot with it, feverish. He swallowed it down.  
  
If someone had known the truth about Radix, let alone confronted him with it – he wasn't sure what he would have done. He'd rebuilt himself after Radix without help, and he'd done it well. True, it had taken some time, but he'd never let it stand between him and physical closeness with anyone else. He hadn't let it affect his studies, or work, or relationship with Noct or Gladio. He hadn't let it stop his inexperienced fumbling with other men when he'd got a little older. He hadn't wanted help; he hadn't needed it. It was deeply regrettable that in not telling anyone Radix had gone free, and perhaps because of it Radix had thought he'd won. He was dead now, at any rate; Ignis had checked.  
  
He'd acted entirely selfishly, even immorally – protecting himself and his place at Noct's side at the expense of any others Radix might have made victims of – but because of it he'd made it through and come out ultimately unscathed. For Prompto there was no selfishness, no shades of morality. What good would come out of adding rape to Ardyn's excessively long list of crimes? None, unless it would help Prompto, and Prompto had already decided that it wouldn't. Ignis had acted without morals, but Prompto was innocent in every way.  
  
So nothing had happened.  
  
Either that or nothing had, actually, happened.  
  
'So,' Prompto said. 'What's browned on top look like, anyway?'  
  
There was a short pause, in which Prompto's teeth clacked together audibly. 'I mean,' Prompto said, at the same time as Ignis said: 'No, it's quite all right–'  
  
Another pause, in which Ignis thought about the colour of sand in Leide, and the shade the Citadel had turned when the evening sun hit it just right, and the pastries he'd made for Noct, and Prompto's hair, and suddenly realised he couldn't remember any differences between them all. Yellow. Brown. Golden. Which was which? 'A few shades darker than what it was going in, a few shades lighter than burnt, ' he said eventually, even though the answer was next to useless. He searched for a better one. 'Or – the colour of cooked pastry. Tawny brown. It should be about done by now.'  
  
A rattle and clack as Prompto took the pan out of the oven and set it on the stove top. 'I think it's done,' he said. 'You want me to serve it up?'  
  
'Yes, please.'  
  
They ate more or less in silence, and Ignis wondered if Prompto liked it or if he was eating it out of duty, or if indeed he was only pretending to eat and would in fact later find someone else to give it to. It wasn't as if he could tell. 'It's good,' Prompto said. 'Weird but good.'  
  
'Thank you.'  
  
The inside of the omelette was soft and creamy, like it should be. The fruit was less good, having been frozen rather than fresh, and the juice had ruined the consistency in places. The top was a little overdone around the edges, but not badly. He really should have made something else. Prompto deserved better. After all he'd been through he deserved better than this godsforsaken fruit omelette, and Ignis, who was apparently entirely incapable of leaving the past in the past.  
  
He tidied the kitchen whilst Prompto showered. He couldn't do any more washing up, at least not without making Prompto's shower a cold one, so he piled the dishes in the sink and wiped down the counters. It was, on one hand, always nice to cook with Prompto. He was appreciative and conscientious, and good at following orders. On the other hand Ignis disliked having anyone at all in his kitchen. Even if they didn't mean to they inevitably ended up moving things around: the balloon and sauce whisks would swap places, or the spatula would go in the sink-side drawer instead of the oven one. Something would not be cleaned well enough. The sugar would not be sealed correctly, or the lids of the few spice jars that remained were left unscrewed. And then he would have to go over everything, double checking each item, because it wasn't as if he could just give the place a glance over.  
  
Not that he didn't want Prompto in the kitchen. Prompto was always welcome, of course. He ran his fingers over the braille labels he'd printed out for the spice jars to make sure they were in the correct order – he still couldn't read well enough, mostly just recognising the first character then guessed the rest of the word by its length or the feel of the jar itself, which worked in these instances but was an abominable habit to get into. He knew he was indulging his more obsessive tendencies, which was not, perhaps, the ideal thing, but right now he couldn't bring himself to fight it. There was an anxious thrum of energy in him, the beginnings of something bad, he knew, and then ignored. He checked the spice jars again. He felt like he was falling.  
  
_'I've seen it before_ _–_ _lots of_ _tutors will give up on a student if they can't work with them immediately.'_  
  
Radix's voice wound round and round, like a song stuck in his head on endless repeat.  
  
_'_ _It's their loss. Just look at how well you're doing now! But it just smacks of arrogance, don't you think? They think they're so important that they won't change their methods at all, and if a student can't learn from them it must be the student's fault.'_  
  
Their lessons had ended up in Radix' apartment. It was quieter, he'd said, than his office, which had been undeniably true. Fewer distractions. Ignis had taken to arriving early to sit at the table, Radix would make him a coffee and talk – about current events, or the new TV show he'd been watching, or the restaurant that had just opened up down the road. He'd ask Ignis about his cooking or other studies, and Ignis had always appreciated how he never bothered him for gossip about Noct, or even hinted that he'd noticed there was little else in his life apart from cooking, studies, and Noct.  
  
_'– lots of tutors will give up on a student if they can't work with them immediately.'_  
  
Hadn't he resolved to not think about him? When had he stopped trying?  
  
He showered after Prompto, him in the shower and Prompto at the sink, possibly shaving or doing something with his hair. Ignis could usually smell the products he used well enough to know exactly what he was doing, but not over the soap he was currently lathering into his own hair. He wondered, absently, what Prompto would do if and when he ever ran out of hair gel.  
  
Afterwards, back in their own rooms, Prompto shaved him; he could do it himself, but it was reassuring to know that there was no chance of accidentally missing a patch, and besides, Prompto liked doing it. It was a soothing routine, gentle and intimate, an easy exercise in trust.  
  
After that Ignis finished washing the dishes, told Prompto he'd be back in a few hours, and went to work.  
  
In truth he didn't need to be at work, but he felt restless, their rooms claustrophobic, and it did mean less to do in the upcoming weekdays. He wouldn't stay long, just enough catch up with a few things – he'd promised Prompto the afternoon and evening, after all, even if it was just for another lazy day doing nothing in particular. If it was for another lazy day then at least he'd have been productive in the morning.  
  
He arrived at his office to find Talcott had left a small pile of notes he'd translated into braille, but before he even got to sit down and read them he was dragged off to discuss a growing problem with the city's sanitation with a woman who'd clearly been waiting for him in the next door office. The meeting stretched on, and it was agonising to know that it was in large part due to himself, and how he needed to be read to like a child. Then he needed to catch up with the plans for extending the electrical grid, which he'd repeatedly tried to not be involved in on the basis that he knew very little about the theory of electrical grids, let alone working in practice, but kept getting dragged back into anyway. Then he was taken for a late lunch, which wasn't so much lunch as a chance to grill him on his thoughts on the new hunter routes. It was even less a lunch given that though he'd been informed there were sandwiches on the table he had no idea where the table was, it being a room he'd never been in before, let alone the location of the sandwiches on said table. He couldn't bring himself to ask someone to pass him the plate.  
  
After that he finally sat down and got back to reading Talcott's notes. He should leave soon if not right away, he thought distantly, as he ran his fingertips across the top sheet of paper. The letters felt jumbled up, not wanting to make sense. The sanitation project again, only also something about fish? Contamination, perhaps? He couldn't understand why he wasn't able to read the damn thing, and ended up going over it five times before he grasped that the wording confusing him was Fisher the name not fishing the activity. He could feel Radix's hand on his thigh. Something was stopping him from packing up and leaving, but he wasn't entirely sure what. Frustration like clawing fingers at his inability to do even the most simple of tasks. What good was he if he couldn't even read?  
  
He needed to be putting more effort into considering Prompto's trauma and Prompto's needs, not thinking more and more about himself, to no gain whatsoever. He needed to help and support Prompto. How could he do that if things carried on the way they were? And Prompto was worrying that Ignis didn't even much like having him around. No wonder, when he went to the office when there was no need to, and stayed long after he said he'd be home. He felt too hot, light-headed. He ought to get a drink of water, but he didn't. He needed to finish Talcott's notes. He ought to go home.  
  
_'This is terrible. Were_ _n't_ _you listening when I explained it last lesson?'_  
  
Banishing Radix during work hours might be too much effort, but he could compromise and refuse him whilst with Prompto. Yes, he could do that. It would be hard work, but no harder than what he was used to, and certainly no more than what Prompto deserved.  
  
The afternoon passed with him telling himself that, and Radix telling him how well his hard work paid off, and the constant stream of people coming to his office to tell him this or that or ask him question after question. He really ought to get back to Prompto, he knew. Even if Prompto wouldn't strictly worry then this was still beyond rude of him, and Prompto deserved better. Still, he always had one more thing to finish off, and one more person he couldn't very well interrupt half-way through their conversation, and he knew with brilliant clarity that he was letting Prompto down in a spectacular way. Prompto, left at home, would start to doubt himself. Then he'd start to doubt Ignis, and then he'd feel bad for doubting Ignis. He would resolve not to doubt Ignis, only that would end with him doubting himself even more.  
  
Ignis was wasting his time. He was being disrespectful. He could so easily solve the problem by getting up and going home.  
  
So why was he still here?  
  
_'Yes,' Radix said, delightedly. 'That's perfect!'_  
  
It was hideously self-centred to be wallowing in his own past, on a single, small event that had happened well over a decade ago and wasn't even applicable any more, what with Radix being dead, when Prompto's attack had been days long and recent – not to mention that Ardyn was still very much a threat. It had been in fighting Ardyn he'd been blinded. Ardyn who had tormented Noct, killed Lunafreya. So why was he thinking about Radix, and not Ardyn? It had been thirteen years. He'd got over it; he'd healed.  
  
Why couldn't he just take Prompto's word for it that nothing had happened?  
  
He felt sick. He was falling and he couldn't see the ground.  
  
By the time he did leave, and only because he'd been invited to dinner by a colleague and used the excuse of intending to have dinner with Prompto, it was eight pm.  
  
He had his apology worked out in his head by the time he unlocked the front door, scripted out for perfect sincerity and humility, but there wasn't any need. The flat was empty.  
  
He still checked both rooms, in case Prompto was there but not simply revealing his presence out of pique, which would be cruel but not unwarranted. Prompto wasn't cruel, though; there wasn't any reason for checking the bed, and the chairs, and the small space between wardrobe and chest of drawers, not least because he'd be able to hear Prompto breathe even were he trying to be silent, even over the sounds from outside.   
  
But Prompto wasn't there, because of course he wasn't so cruel as to trick Ignis like that – but where then was he? He wasn't in the bathroom. His belongings were all still present, and he'd had plenty of time to pack up properly if he'd wanted to. Perhaps he'd gone out for a drink with friends. Or he was visiting someone, or perhaps he'd even went to Ignis' office, and they'd missed each other as they'd passed in the street. Perhaps he'd worried about him.  
  
With a twinge of guilt Ignis knew Prompto had almost definitely worried about him, if not for being in danger then at least for overworking. There wasn't any need – he didn't overwork, and it was Prompto who'd be in danger if there were danger about – which there almost certainly wasn't. Lestallum was generally as safe a place as anywhere could be, these days. The city and its economy was large enough to have real law enforcement, unlike smaller settlements elsewhere. Prompto was, by now, well known and well liked, and regardless of official regulation civilians tended to look after their own. More than that Prompto was, when he needed to be, sensible and competent. He could look after himself.  
  
And yet – what if something had happened? There was always the possibility of something having gone wrong – Prompto was not always sensible. What if he'd got himself involved in something that didn't involve him? Or Ardyn had – true, he hadn't approached them since they'd lost Noct. Or, at least, they hadn't noticed him approaching them. But who was to say he hadn't, or wouldn't?  
  
He'd rarely been able to understand Ardyn. He didn't know who or what the man was, let alone predict his actions.  
  
The flat felt colder and more empty than it ever had, even before Prompto had arrived, which was an irritatingly asinine thought, but Ignis couldn't shake it. Lestallum's phone tower had been out of order the last few days. He tried phoning Prompto anyway, to no luck.  
  
He was being foolish. He just needed to be patient and Prompto would undoubtedly return. He'd merely got tired of waiting, of feeling like he were second to Ignis' work and Ignis' consideration, and left to do his own thing. It was only right. He shouldn't have to wait around for when Ignis deigned to show up. And yet – and yet, what if not? What if Ardyn–  
  
What if Ardyn, indeed. There were a hundred possibilities; Ardyn had never gone for the most simple option when he could go with theatrics. It could be Gladio, still out gods knows where, who was in danger – but then, Ardyn had never shown any interest in Gladio. The interest he'd shown in Ignis – that had been situational. Impersonal. As for Prompto, well, most had been situational, but not always. In the caravan he'd clearly been most focused on Prompto, and surely there must have been other times that Ignis simply hadn't noticed because he'd been too busy watching Noct. For all that Ardyn's plans revolved around Noct, it had been Prompto who'd held his attention, who he'd chosen to make it personal for.  
  
Ignis found himself by the front door, touching the handle with his fingertips. This was his fault. If only he hadn't stayed at work. How could he protect Prompto if he wasn't even there when Prompto needed him?  
  
This was absurd. Prompto wasn't in danger. He was, at worst, angry and disappointed in Ignis.  
  
It would be fine. It would be perfectly fine. Anger and disappointment were solvable. He could live with them. He was used to anger and disappointment.  
  
_Radix's voice, in his ear, saying – Radix's hands on him, moving–_  
  
Where was Prompto? Where was Ardyn? Ignis could feel his throat tighten and a tug in his palm, searching for that motion where he pulled his weapons from the armiger. If he could make Ardyn feel just a fraction of the pain he'd put them through, then – then nothing. It wouldn't solve anything. Attacking Ardyn was worse than futile. He knew that perhaps better than anyone, but he still wanted to. He could feel his heart race.  
  
_Radix's skin, hot against–_  
  
No. This was wrong. He wasn't meant to fall apart. He was meant to hold up the others, hold them together. What use was he if he couldn't do that?  
  
What use was he now that Noct was gone?  
  
Noct would return. Prompto would return, unharmed. Ardyn was not here. Ardyn wouldn't hurt Prompto again.  
  
What if, he thought, unable to stop himself, the reason he couldn't hear Prompto breathing was because Prompto wasn't breathing?  
  
It was stupid. He was being stupid. He let go of the door handle and went to fetch the broom, trying to tell himself that the reason he was sweeping was to busy himself with something practical. That it wasn't so he could have a plausible reason to systematically move across every part of the two small rooms (if only he could see; if only he could _fucking see_ ). With so little floorspace it hardly took long. He wiped down the counters in the kitchen, plumped the cushions on the sofa, and re-made the bed. What was the time? Nine-twenty. He should make dinner for when Prompto got back, though it was likely Prompto had already eaten. What ingredients did they have? He couldn't think.  
  
He was tired, he realised. When was the last time he'd had a decent night's sleep? He couldn't remember.  
  
He'd make a nice dinner anyway, because the waste of his time and effort and resources might therefore balance out some of Prompto's time he'd wasted earlier. It would only be fair. He would also apologise and say it wouldn't happen again. It might even be that Prompto wasn't actually all that angry with him. Prompto's expectations for just how much effort others ought to put in for him were abysmally low.  
  
(And what if Prompto was in trouble, or had been whilst Ignis had been at work, and Ignis would never be able to correct those low expectations? What if, when Noct got back, Ignis would have to tell him that Prompto hadn't made it?)  
  
He was standing in the middle of the tiny space of his kitchen, but the blankness around him felt endless and unfathomable.  
  
Just that morning he'd gone through the contents of his food and utensil cupboards to make sure Prompto hadn't undone the strict order of things. He tried to remind himself of the motions, the touch of each item in its correct place. He could place every item and ingredient in the map he held in his mind.  
  
_'Good morning,' Radix said_ _, with a smile_ _. 'How've you been?'_  
  
Half an hour later he was double checking the temperature on the oven, the dish of spiced vegetables having just gone in, when he heard footsteps, then the front door opening. He stood and turned, moving to stand in the doorway.  
  
'Oh, Iggy, hey!' Prompto put something down, the dull clunk of plastic in a cloth bag, perhaps, and took off his shoes. 'You're back!'  
  
'Where were you?' He hadn't meant to sound so acidic, but it came out that way regardless.  
  
'I was – shit, didn't you get my note?'  
  
'A note? Prompto,' he said, and he could feel anger surge in him like a physical wave, only in part because of the embarrassment of having not known a note was there in the first place. He had to calm down, but he couldn't. He barely felt in control of his own body, let alone his emotions. 'Consider the circumstances. Do you really think a note was the most practical of options?'  
  
'I wrote it out in braille and everything! I stuck it to the bedroom door. Okay, I'm sorry, I could have done more, but you're acting really kinda scary right now and I'm not actually a little kid. I don't need permission to leave the house after you, you know, ditched me all afternoon.'  
  
He was angry. Good. The fight was shockingly agreeable.  
  
'I'm not saying you need permission. Simply that given the current situation, as well as past events, don't you think you could stand to take a little more care?'  
  
'What's that meant to mean?'  
  
'It means it's dangerous. Lestallum is hardly Insomnia, and I'm not sure if you've forgotten but Ardyn is still a potential threat. Forgive me for feeling just a touch concerned for you!'  
  
'And like I wasn't worried about you, either? I'm not the only one Ardyn's fucked around with!'  
  
Ignis made an impatient sound. How could Prompto be this obtuse? 'You knew full well I was sitting at my desk, working, in possibly one of the safest places in all Eos. But you – how can I look after you if I don't even know where you are?'  
  
He could feel the vibration in the floor as Prompto walked towards him, stopping just out of reach. 'Wow, Iggy,' he said. 'You actually think, between the two of us, _I'm_ the one who needs looking after?'  
  
Ignis' mouth was open to argue even as the words sunk in. He closed it. He felt like Prompto had struck him; the world tilted and bent all around him, though he couldn't see it.  
  
'You think I left Gladio, and hunting daemons out there–' Prompto said, but Ignis cut him off. He couldn't hear any more. He was absolutely, inexorably certain, utterly terrified, that if he heard another word he's shatter into a thousand irreparable pieces.   
  
'Thank you. I understand. I'm sorry, but would it be possible if I had a moment? I just need – just a moment alone.'  
  
'Ignis. I ... I'm–'  
  
'Please.'  
  
More footsteps, and the sound of the bedroom door closing. Prompto, it turned out, had left the front door open, which made it easy for Ignis to take his cane and leave silently.


	4. Chapter 4

It was drizzling – the kind of rain that was more mist and wind than anything else. Ignis ducked his head and stuck his left hand in his trouser pocket, regretting not having grabbed his jacket on the way out. He hadn't had the chance to wash his hands after preparing the vegetables, either; his fingers on the cane were greasy, but he didn't have anything to clean them on, save his shirt sleeves or trousers.   
  
There wasn't anywhere in particular to go, so he picked a direction at random and concentrated on trying not to bump into anyone or anything. If he'd had a car he'd have retreated there, as he had done countless times in Insomnia. He did not have a car. He didn't have Noct and Noct's flat to retreat to, either. He ended up on the road leading west out of Lestallum, then walked along the perimeter fence until he reckoned he was out of sight from the road. Climbing up the rocks proved something of a challenge, given his lack of ability to pick an easy route up, and the back of his neck prickled with the expectation that any moment someone would shout out at him to get down, ask what he thought he was doing. No one shouted; perhaps he was alone. Perhaps they thought him stupid or mad or drunk and wanted to leave him well alone. He sat down where the rocks levelled off a bit, below one of the powerful anti-daemon lamps that circled the city. The rain made a gentle noise as it hit the ground, and the lamp buzzed. He was muddy, wet down to the skin, his hair plastered to his forehead. Now he wasn't moving and concentrating on his feet there wasn't anything to distract him from why he'd walked out in the first place.   
  
_ 'Wow, Iggy. You actually think, between the two of us, I'm the one who needs looking after?' _ _   
_ _   
_ He rested his head against the cold metal of the lamp-post. Everything Prompto had said, he realised, was true. He'd been getting it wrong this entire time.   
  
He was the one who'd been raped, not Prompto. He wasn't the one looking after Prompto, because Prompto was here to look after him.   
  
Was it the humiliation that was biting into him, hard enough to hurt? Or was the pain from something else?   
  
Why hadn't he seen it? Laughter bubbled in his chest but came out as a grimace, eyes stinging. He hadn't seen it – yes, a good pun. A joke. One giant, walking, talking joke. Cripplingly embarrassing. And there – another one. He didn't know why anyone, least of all Prompto, put up with him.   
  
Lestallum was perpetually hot. If he'd been sitting out in Insomnia all night, in the rain at this time of year, he'd have been courting hypothermia. As it was it was only mildly uncomfortable. The ground was rocky, but a muddy kind of rocky; he pulled up stones with his hands, digging his fingertips into the cracks until they gave. He didn't know what to do. He was being disgustingly melodramatic, childish, sitting out in the rain, playing in the dirt. He could be dealing with this like an adult, yet here he was. And he still hadn't given Prompto that apology.   
  
He'd been pretending he was still useful; that in serving Lestallum he was serving Lucis and therefore serving Noct. He could see it now, could feel the definition of each sharp edge – how hard he'd been clinging to that fantasy, when in reality he'd failed every step of the way. With Radix, with Insomnia, Altissia, Prompto, Galdin Quay, Noct. What was there that he hadn't failed?   
  
'Noct,' he said. The rain hushed him. 'What am I doing?'   
  
If he were someone else he would tell himself that he needed to drop the fantasy and start over. Blindness was not the end of the world; plenty of people were blind and enjoyed life and accomplished much. The loss of the sun was not the end of the world; humanity was still clinging on. People lost loved ones. People lost their jobs and homes. It was not the end of the world. These were not good enough reasons to fall apart, he would tell himself. He needed to get a grip of himself and start over.   
  
Starting over felt like an astral looming over him. If he moved even an inch it would notice him, and then, with the pads of its fingertips, crush him against the ground.   
  
He wasn't strong enough. His own pulse in his chest and stomach made him feel ill. The lamp post felt sickly hot against his forehead where he'd leant against it and warmed it, but the metal where he shifted to was achingly cold, and the new position squashed his visor into the bridge of his nose.   
  
He wasn't strong enough. He couldn't do it. Prompto was here to protect and look after him, after all.   
  
He felt like something very small, pinned to a card and dissected, inspected then tossed away. He felt cold, even though it wasn't ever very cold in Lestallum. He felt tired. Exhausted.   
  
Maybe he could leave to find Gladio, and Gladio would tell him to stop being pathetic. Maybe he could leave to find a daemon, which would act to convince him and everyone else of his uselessness.   
  
Prompto was far too kind. He should have left Ignis to his failure and stopped letting him drag him down.   
  
Noct – if Noct were here, Ignis might not be so useless in the first place. At least before he'd been able to pick himself up and carry on.   
  
He didn't have his phone with him, and no other way of telling the time. He shifted slightly, moving away from where a stone was digging into his shin. He ought to go back and find Prompto. Prompto would be worrying; after all, Prompto was here to look after him. And here he was making it hard for him, like Noct had made it hard for Ignis. The only difference was that Noct had been worth it, no matter how hard it had got.   
  
After a while, he fell asleep.   
  
He woke up a few times, drifting muzzily into a half-asleep doze, but unwilling to move out of either his place in the mud or self-pity, he stayed still. Each time he nodded back off to an uncomfortable sleep.   
  
When he woke properly he arched his back in a stretch and realised abruptly why sleeping outside in the rain, sitting up, on rocky ground, was a terrible idea. His legs were numb; he was soaked to the skin, though it had stopped raining at some point. His head and back ached fiercely. He didn't know what the time was, but it felt like he'd slept for several hours at least.   
  
And, of course, none of his problems were solved. On the other hand, new problems had been created.   
  
Useless. Utterly useless.   
  
Now he had to return, shamefaced, like a child who'd wanted attention so much they'd pretended to run away from home.   
  
It was infinitely easier to carry on sitting there, walling in his self pity, so he did. The thought of having to go back and face Prompto made him want to sink down into the mud, suffocate as it covered his mouth and nose. He didn’t think he could bare it.   
  
He wondered what the time was, and where Prompto was, and what he was doing. Whether Gladio was safe. Had Prompto taken the vegetables out of the oven, or had he left them to burn to a crisp? Or had he finally had enough, packed his bags, and left? He hoped that he had, because it meant that he’d never have to confront him and his shame again.   
  
When, some indeterminable amount of time later, he heard his name being called – not just his name but his name in Prompto's voice – it took a moment to realise he wasn't imagining it. Then he sat up a little straighter.   
  
For a split second he considered staying very still and hoping Prompto didn't find him. Then he shook his head, and opened his mouth.   
  
He'd had pride, and confidence in his own abilities, and look where they had got him; he balled his pride and confidence up like waste paper and threw them away.

'Prompto,' he called, voice scratchy, scrubbing the inside of his throat like a bottle brush. 'Prompto.' He would have got up, but his legs wouldn't seem to move. As the words left him he realised he felt oddly, pleasantly empty, cold and washed out, like clean dishes left to dry on the rack. Clean, but all it would take would be to drop him, and he'd shatter.   
  
'Oh, shit,' was the first thing Prompto said. He stumbled as he scrambled up the rocks towards Ignis, the sound of stones rattling and crunching underfoot coming with him.   
  
Ignis stayed still as Prompto grasped at his shoulders and arms and the back of his head, running his hands across him as if he were the blind one. His skin was uncomfortably hot. ‘Iggy, Igs, I'm sorry, but please never do that again – oh, fuck, I thought you'd just walked off and got yourself–'   
  
'Prompto,' Ignis said, and found and grasped his hands, holding them still. 'I'm fine.'   
  
'Yeah. Okay. Yeah. But still, don't do that again. I swear I had, like, five heart attacks this morning. I'm way too young to die from a heart attack.'   
  
He was joking, but his voice still trembled, thick. Was he crying? 'I'm sorry,' Ignis said. 'I won't do it again.'   
  
'Right. Okay. Are you okay? I know you just said you were, but...' Prompto said, and swallowed the rest of his sentence. 'Come on, we should get back. You're... gonna catch a cold or something in those wet clothes.'

There was a pause before Prompto stood. He tugged at Ignis' arm to no effect; Ignis' legs still didn't want to respond. ‘Iggy? If you want I'll go hang out somewhere else. Holly will probably let me crash at her's. But you probably shouldn't sit here too long. You're all wet, and... shit, I'm sorry for not finding you sooner. I should have said that before, right? I thought – I went to bed after you left, can you believe it? I thought you needed to blow off some steam and you'd be in your office or something. I actually thought you'd be back by the time I woke up. I just went to bed and then you weren't there in the morning, or at your office, and no one had seen you...'   
  
He'd given up trying to pull Ignis up. One of his hands disappeared from Ignis' arm but the other still clutched at it. He sniffed, wetly, then blew out a shaky laugh. 'I'm sorry. Shit. I really am sorry. And you don't have to come back now if you don't want to. I just thought – I don’t know, I wasn't thinking. And I still don't even know what the problem is. I'm that shit a boyfriend, huh.'   
  
'Don't be sorry.' Ignis pulled his arm back down; Prompto followed, settling next to Ignis. Their hands met, and they linked fingers. His hands were numb and swollen; it felt wrong. Ignis forced himself not to think of the mud that was getting on Prompto's trousers. 'And you're a wonderful boyfriend. You shouldn't have to cater to this, even if you'd been able to predict it.'   
  
'Jeez, way to make it sound like you snapped and went on a murder spree or something.'   
  
'I walked out of an argument to sulk all night in the rain and mud. It's behaviour hardly becoming of a teenager, let alone someone who was meant to advise the Crown Prince then King of Lucis.'   
  
'Iggy. Okay. I mean, look. I'm gonna be serious for a moment, so hear me out. Right. Apart from this, you're always so strong and sensible. You just do what you need to without freaking out about it, even if it's hard – I'd never be able to do, like, ninety per cent of the stuff you can, just because I'm no way that cool. And you've been like that ever since I met you, all this time, you always... get stuff done, quietly, no fuss. You deserve a freak out. And you've just been saving them up all these years for a really big one.'   
  
'A freak out.' Ignis' lips quirked, tiredly. 'That's one way to put it.'   
  
'Trust me, I'm an expert. I could probably write a thesis about 'em, I'm that much of an expert. So listen to me when I say you just gotta ride it out, and then when you're not freaking out any more you can look back and see how stupid you were.'   
  
'Prompto, I don't think–'   
  
'Nope. Listen to the expert.'   
  
Something groaned a little way away, low and rumbling and definitely not human. On the other side of the fence, Ignis calculated. Out of the beam of the lamp. Prompto shifted, tensing then relaxing.   
  
'I don't think you're that flappable,' Ignis said.   
  
'Ha. Well, maybe not. But compared to you guys I'm freaky extraordinaire.'   
  
'What is it?'   
  
'Huh?'   
  
'The daemon.'   
  
'Oh, I dunno. It's below us — I can't see over the rocks.'   
  
Ignis didn't reply, but shifted to accommodate Prompto, who'd moved over to lean against Ignis' side. The press of his body was hot through their wet clothes, unbearably welcome.   
  
'I really don't think you're any more prone to freaking out than any of the rest of us. You were a civilian only a bare few years ago, whilst we were raised for it from the start. You've coped with everything that's happened remarkably well. Better than, even.'   
  
'Iggy. Iggy, no. C'mon, I'm meant to be making you feel better, not the other way round.'   
  
'I'm not sure what I've done to deserve it,' Ignis said, a gentle murmur. 'And no, that wasn't fishing for compliments, so please don't say anything.'   
  
'But you know I'm think it. Even if I'm not gonna say it.'   
  
'For all that I disagree with you, yes. Fine.'   
  
'Good. Just checking.'   
  
The daemon groaned again, further away this time. There was the sharp sound of wind on rock and not much else. The silence from Lestallum was eerie. The largest city in possibly all of Eos, yet all it took was to walk a few hundred metres and it was as if didn't exist at all.

'I hate it,' Ignis said. Prompto's hand, still in his, twitched. 'This life. All of it. It makes me... I really can't stand how much I hate it, sometimes.'

'I – yeah.' It was more of a noise confirming he'd heard than anything else. Prompto let his hand slip from Ignis'.

'I think we should...' Ignis said, trailing off as he shifted to one side. His legs had stiffened almost to the point of non-functional. Standing now would not be pleasant — not that he deserved any less.   
  
The warmth of Prompto's body disappeared. 'You want us to take a break?'   
  
'What?' Ignis said, alarmed, turning his head to face Prompto. 'No. Unless you want to? I was going to say we should get back home.'   
  
'Oh.' Prompto sucked in a hard breath, then let it out quickly. 'Oh. Ha. Wow, okay. Never mind, ignore me, let's change the topic. And for future reference, no, I really don't.'   
  
Ignis forced himself to smile in recognition. The alarm still hadn't quite faded, his shoulders and neck still tensed. Had he really let it get to such a state that Prompto would immediately think he didn't want their relationship any more? Despicable. He searched for a safe topic and came up empty-handed. It was starting to rain again. He felt a drop land on his cheek, just below his visor.   
  
'Did Ardyn ever touch you?' The words slipped out before he could stop them.   
  
'What? You mean – you're talking about, you know, sexually, right?' Prompto let out a quick breath, half an exhale, half a nervous laugh. 'Yep, that's changing the topic all right. And no. He didn't. He was a creep, sure, but not in that way.'   
  
'Ah,' Ignis said. 'That's good.'   
  
'Is that – he didn't with you, right?'   
  
Ignis shook his head. 'No.'   
  
'And... no one else did?'   
  
'No,' Ignis said, with a sigh.   
  
Prompto didn't reply, though he paused as if he were going to. Instead he leant down and rested his head on Ignis' shoulder, pressing the bridge of his nose to Ignis' collarbone. Ignis put a hand on his back, absently rubbing small circles there. Another drop of rain landed on his hand, then one on his cheek.   
  
'I'm sorry; I should clarify — everything but you, and Gladio when he deigns to show up,' Ignis said. 'I hate everything but you.   
  
'We should go home.'   
  
Prompto nodded silently from where he sat, still pressed up against Ignis' shoulder.   
  
The return home felt at once agonisingly long but also empty, and by the time they got back Ignis found he couldn't remember much at all from the journey. His legs still ached. He went to their rooms only to pick up some dry clothes and a towel, before heading down the corridor to the bathrooms. He took his wet, dirty clothes into the shower to rinse them, and then stood there, hands by his sides. He seemed to have run out of energy to turn the water on.

_ You're being ridiculous. Enough of this, _ he told himself, and turned the water on. His hands and feet burnt with the heat, for all that the water never got very hot.   
  
He gave his wet clothes a scrub to get the worst of the mud off, and used his undershirt to scrub himself, since he’d forgotten to bring his washcloth. Stepping out of the shower, he dried and dressed himself, wringing out his wet clothes and bundling them up to carry back.   
  
On entering his flat he was met with the sound of Prompto edging backwards so they wouldn't collide. 'Have you eaten today?' Ignis asked, hanging his clothes on the clothes horse by the window, and went to check whether the vegetables were still in the oven. They weren't. 'Or last night?'   
  
'No. And, um, I put the veg in the fridge, top shelf, on the left.' A short pause. Prompto drummed his fingers against the counter top. 'Are you okay? You're not still cold, are you? You were like a popsicle when I found you, for real.'   
  
'Top shelf – excellent, thank you. Now; we have rice,' Ignis said. 'Rice and vegetables, with a fried egg? Not a very traditional brunch, but it'll work. Unless you want something else?'   
  
'No. That's fine. And you didn't answer the question.'   
  
'It's only a pity there's nothing else,' Ignis said, though only absently. The memories of his kitchen cupboards in Insomnia weren't pressing, like they sometimes were. He could barely think of what he would cook if he had the chance. His jars of seasonings and spices — smoked Piztala shoots, black mountain mushrooms, bird-eye pepper, imported from Tenebrae. He supposed all these were dead and extinct by now. The mushrooms might not be.   
  
'So,' Prompto said, as Ignis rinsed the rice. 'We're just not gonna talk about it?'   
  
'Talk about what?' Ignis said, mildly; he knew it was the wrong thing to say, but said it anyway.   
  
'What just happened. Last night. Just now. You... you know.'   
  
His voice was tentative. What would be the best way to heat up the vegetables? In a frying pan, perhaps, with the eggs. Perhaps it would be nice to fry the rice as well, rather than have it just steamed.   
  
'Okay, so, fine, you don't want to. That's fine. But  _ I _ want to. So you can't just – Ignis, you really, really scared me. I'm not even joking, I was terrified, and I want to know what happened. Please.'   
  
It wasn't a question. The tone of it very almost made it an order, even with the please. Ignis put the rice on the hob and didn't say anything. He could feel the air in the room press down on him, the walls closing in to crush him. He didn’t feel particularly real. He felt like plastic plates, cheap and ugly and capable of being bounced off nearly anything.   
  
'Ignis.' He could hear Prompto fidgeting behind him. 'You can't – you can't just do whatever and affect people like that, then pretend it didn't happen because you don't want to talk about it. It did happen and can you at least please just acknowledge it?'   
  
'Very well. I walked out of an argument. I'm back now.'   
  
'That's not what I meant and you know it.'   
  
He sounded almost curt. It was not, Ignis thought, a good sign. Prompto was rarely upset enough to be anywhere near curt. He drained most of the water from the rice, checking the ratios with one finger, and put the pan on the stove to cook. That he was so calm – calm enough that Prompto's upset felt too distant to be cause for any much concern – was probably not a good sign either.   
  
'I'm sorry, but you'll have to tell me what you meant, then.'   
  
'I – seriously, Ignis, what the fuck? Why are you being such an asshole?'   
  
'Am I?' He pressed the timer on the oven twenty times, for twenty minutes. The motion was pleasingly mechanical.   
  
Prompto took a breath, then walked out of the room. The floorboards in the bedroom creaked, then creaked again. A couple of minutes later came the fabric noise of Prompto shifting in the doorway.   
  
'Right,' Prompto said. 'Okay.'   
  
There was a long pause in which Ignis said nothing, listening for the sound of the rice coming to a boil.   
  
'Look at it this way,' Prompto said, and didn't stumble on his choice of wording. 'It was me saying I'm looking after you that set you off, am I right? Because you're so used to being in control, and looking after Noct, and now everything's gone to shit and Noct's not here, you're just... free-falling. And you couldn't deal with it being shoved in your face.'   
  
He waited, perhaps to see if he'd get a reaction. Ignis stayed perfectly still. He could hear the rice start to bubble. Not quite boiling yet, but soon.   
  
'I'm not some stupid kid who can't do anything. I'm not. And... I'm not okay with you going through life thinking I am. So fine, I was wrong when I said I'm here to look after you, because it's not like you're a stupid kid either. But sooner or later you're gonna have to deal with the fact that we're both adults and it's not your job to look after me like you did with Noct. Because I'm not Noct.'   
  
_ I know, _ Ignis wanted to say.  _ Believe me when I say, I know. _ He kept his mouth shut.   
  
'I know we talked about it earlier, back outside, but... okay, fine, you know what? We don't have to talk about it. It's fine, I'm sorry for pushing you. We can talk about it when you're ready to.'   
  
A pause. The rice continued to be not quite boiling.   
  
'You're... you're just gonna keep ignoring me, aren't you.'   
  
'I'm not ignoring you.'   
  
Prompto snorted a laugh. 'Well that told me, then.'   
  
The rice started to boil. Ignis turned it down as low as possible, then went to the fridge to get out the vegetables. Behind him, Prompto fidgeted.   
  
'Can you not ignore me? Please.'   
  
His voice was tight and distinctly unhappy. He was far more anxious than he'd been letting on, Ignis realised. Or at least, far more anxious than Ignis had picked up on.   
  
'I just said: I'm not ignoring you.'   
  
Prompto blew out a hard, shaky breath. 'Can't believe I used to think you were good at relationships. Communication is the key, blah blah blah, pretty sure you were the one who told me that. Guess it's good enough for you to lecture other people but not get to bother with it yourself.'   
  
'You're one to talk, given that you've been lying to us all.'   
  
He regretted it the moment it came out. His shoulders stiffened, jaw clenching as if he could still bite back the words. Putting the vegetables on the counter, he turned to walk out of the room. Prompto grabbed his arm; he flinched from the unexpected contact.   
  
'When? What do you mean, lying? When did I lie?'   
  
Ignis took a step away, trying to break Prompto's grip. Prompto took the step with him and didn't let go.   
  
'You mean about Ardyn,' Prompto said, voice raised. 'You think he creeped on me – you think he raped me and I'm lying about it, don't you?'   
  
Ignis didn't reply, other than to take a second useless step away.   
  
'Yeah, and I'm pretty sure your weird obsession with it means you were lying back then too.'   
  
'Too? So you're saying you were lying.'   
  
'You know what I meant, don't you dare try twisting it back on me.'   
  
He was angry. His tone was sharp as knives, and his fingers dug into Ignis' arm hard enough to hurt. 'Let go,' Ignis said; Prompto ignored him.   
  
'So great,' he said. 'Both of us think the other is lying. That's — that's, wow, awesome foundation for a relationship! Great!'   
  
'Let go. Prompto, let go—'

Prompto let go. His footsteps back were heavy, scraping against the floor. His voice no longer loud; it seemed to have grown too large and collapsed in on itself, trembling just to keep the last scraps of strength together. 'I'm sorry. Shit. I'm sorry,’ Prompto said. ‘Hey, you know, for a second I had this — this stupid fantasy where I had you by the wrists, and pinned you to the wall — I guess I was mistaking myself for Gladio, too, ha. And I didn't let go until you'd stopped struggling and then you broke down and told me everything and I don't know, the power of truth just went and fixed everything because fuck knows I don't know how, and I'm pretty sure you don't either, and — I don't know why I just said that. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I know that was stupid, I just... I'll go now.'   
  
Ignis leant back on the counter, cupboard door handle digging into his thigh, as he listened to Prompto retreat to the door and fumble with his shoes.   
  
'I'll be back before tomorrow morning,' Prompto said, sounding like he was struggling for air. 'If I'm not I'll be at Holly's. And I'm telling you this because I'm not a fucking asshole.'   
  
The sound of keys being picked up, and the front door opened and closed. Footsteps from outside faded into the background noise of Lestallum.   
  
Fifteen minutes later the timer went off, a worn out beep-beep-beep, and Ignis turned off the rice. He left it there on the oven as he went to wash his clothes properly, and hung them back up to dry.   
  
He double checked the oven was turned off, then put the vegetables back in the fridge. The rice went into a plastic container. It bashed into the fridge shelf as Ignis tried to slot it in, almost falling from his grip to the floor. He shoved it in, pushing a few jars out of the way in the process; the glass sliding on glass screeched in protest. Ignis shut the fridge door hard.   
  
Where was Prompto? Was he safe? Where was Ardyn?   
  
Prompto was fine. He was the one looking after Ignis, after all.   
  
It took a few moments to find his braille sheets, even though they were exactly where he remembered placing them last night, on the table in the living room. He closed his eye and tried to focus on the cells beneath his fingertip. Prompto was fine. He had to be fine. He was capable. He was fine.   
  
He needed to think of something else. He needed to distract himself. His hands were shaking. His pulse raced in his throat.   
  
_ Radix frowned. 'I know you've been going through all sorts of complete recipes,' he said, 'but have you tried finding a solid book on pastry types – ignoring the filling for now – and gone through them one by one?' _ _   
_ _   
_ _ 'Sort of,' Ignis said, with a huff. 'I know it's a kind of shortcrust, and I have been changing the ratios, but Noct can't even seem to tell the difference between batches. He just says it's wrong but he doesn't know how.' _ _   
_ _   
_ _ 'No, that's no use,' Radix said. He spoke softly, mulling over the puzzle. 'Perhaps if you made two or more at once and he compared them in one sitting?' _ _   
_ _   
_ Ignis leant back, resting his head on the back of the sofa. Prompto was fine. Prompto was fine. He just needed to stop thinking about him. He needed to let him go.   
  
_ 'Maybe,' he said. 'That might work. It's worth trying, anyway, thank you.' _ _   
_ _   
_ He let himself sink into the memory.


	5. Chapter 5

_ Ignis yawned, smothering the motion with a fist, then frowned at his computer screen. This paper wasn't any use either – he couldn't seem to find any that explained what he wanted to know, and Radix' essay was due in tomorrow. Back-buttoning to the search results he scrolled down, flicked to another tab and checked his email. Nothing new, but that was to be expected, given that work hours had ended long ago. Back to the search, and he stared at the page. No, he'd read all of them, and none were any use. Anxiety was starting to solidify in his gut from where it had been collecting all day. Maybe he could pretend he was ill and use that as an excuse as to why he hadn't done it? But it was too late for that, Radix would just ask him why he'd expected to finish it last minute. Could he purposefully corrupt the file before sending it? No – even if Radix didn't realise immediately what he'd done, he'd simply ask Ignis to send it again straight after the lesson. _

_ A knock on his door and his uncle poked his head in. 'Ignis, out, now. And for goodness' sakes, stop using your computer in the dark, you'll make your eyesight even worse.' _

_ He was gone before Ignis could reply. Biting his lip he saved his work (it wasn't enough – it wouldn't be nearly enough. Why was he so bad at this? Why couldn't he just do it?) and stood. With one last backwards glance he smoothed down his clothes and left his bedroom. _

_ The guests – he hadn't been told who they were – seemed to have mostly already arrived; none of them paid him much attention as he wandered into the kitchen to help himself to the hors d'oeuvres. One woman, whose name he didn't remember but did know of her mother as the defence secretary, smiled conspiratorially at him as she passed him a glass of champagne. Ignis returned the smile and left the glass on the table as soon as he saw her sufficiently distracted. He didn't want to be here. The evening had barely started and already he felt exhausted – he supposed his three hours of sleep the previous night had not helped in that regard. _

_ He wondered what Noct was doing. He wished he were allowed his phone on him so he could ask. _

_ He wished he could be back in his room, working on his essay. _

_ Maybe Radix wouldn't be too disappointed. He'd done well enough with the last homework, so perhaps he'd be more willing to overlook this one. Even as he thought it he knew it was pointless – Radix never overlooked poor work. And he shouldn’t. Ignis was meant to be Noct’s advisor. He had to be the best. _

_ The black misery of doing badly — of knowingly doing badly, but unable to do better — made the cured meats and salmon tartar churn sickeningly in his stomach. _

_ At the dinner table he was sat next to the youngest guest besides himself, a man in his mid-thirties, whom Ignis recognised as a nephew of the Duke of Leide. _

_ 'So,' the duke's nephew said, without introducing himself. He had a patronising smile, and his cheeks were already red with alcohol. 'What's a lad like you doing locked in your room on a nice Saturday like this? You should be out playing. Or,' he said, and he winked, 'perhaps I'd better not ask.' _

_ 'I was working on an essay,' Ignis said, just loud enough to get a few more people's attention on him, given he'd barely talked all evening. He locked eyes with the man, disliking him intensely. 'Looking at the defence articles Lord Contumelia published last year. It's interesting how the first two became outdated almost instantly, yet the third and fourth are still very relevant, don't you think?' _

_ 'Ah,' the duke's nephew said, aware of the attention on him, and embarrassed, he turned to his neighbour on his other side. 'Children these days! How are yours doing, by the way, Catherine? Isn't your eldest in university now?' _

_ It was a victory, but a short one. 'So precocious!' the woman sitting opposite him said. 'But that's just as well, as Noctis' future advisor. Tell me, what is the little prince up to these days? Your uncle said you were with him just this morning.' _

_ Her overly-friendly reference to Noct rankled. Little prince indeed. He doubted she'd ever even spoken to Noct, at least not beyond pleasantries. And if she ever did, he'd probably dislike her. He felt sick. His head hurt.  'Yes, I was,' he said, and took a mouthful of steak, chewing as slowly as he could, even though eating was just making him feel worse. 'He's well,' he added, once the meat had turned to a wet mush in his mouth and he couldn't put off swallowing any longer. _

_ 'Ignis,' his uncle said, a tone of warning in his voice. _

_ 'Yes, Uncle?' _

_ 'Answer the question.' _

_ Ignis turned back to the woman. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'Could you repeat yourself?' _

_ She smiled at him, lips thin. 'What were you up to with Noctis this morning?' _

_ As hard and straight as he could manage, he said: 'I don't believe Prince Noctis' private life is any of your business.' _

_ The table broke out in laughter. Ignis felt his face burn and hated himself for it. 'Ignis, darling,' one woman said, giggling, as another – the Catherine the duke's nephew had talked to – turned to his uncle. 'How old is he? Where on Eos did you find a teenager who acts such like an old fart?' _

_ 'I am so sorry for you, my young man. Born without a sense of humour!' the duke's nephew said, fat cheeks jumping with his laughter. He turned to Catherine. 'I feel more sorry for the prince. Imagine having to work with that your whole life...' _

_ Ignis stared down at his plate and forced himself to carry on eating. He could feel his uncle's eyes on him, trying to get his attention, but he ignored it. His face was still red, he could tell, his whole body hot. He tried to think of his work, as if sudden inspiration would come to him from the salad and he’d understand out of nowhere what he'd been failing to understand all week. Nothing came. Why was he so useless? Why did he have to humiliate himself, over and over, because he was too stupid to do just this simple thing? Radix must think he was such an idiot. And now his uncle was angry with him, too. _

_ About half an hour after the meal and two more bouts of conversation that ended hardly better than the first, Ignis went to find his uncle, who was standing with Catherine and a man Ignis still didn't know. He waited until the man ended his story — something incredibly boring about someone he didn't know's business plans — and caught his uncle's eye. 'May I leave go to my room, please?' _

_ 'What for?' _

_ 'I have some work to finish.' _

_ 'I thought you said you'd done your homework.' _

_ He had, and he'd lied about it; Radix's work always took hours longer than it should, which was embarrassing, and his uncle disapproved when he stayed up too late doing work. _

_ 'This isn't homework, it's extra-curricular... read and report on some essays by Fuga.' _

_ 'Oh,' the business-story man interrupted; Ignis held back his scowl of irritation. 'My sister's wife went to school with Fuga. I heard he was a terrible delinquent back in the day. She has all sorts of stories about the things he got up to.' _

_ 'You can't very well say that and not give us the details,' Catherine said, laughing. _

_ 'Yes, go on.' Ignis' uncle refilled everyone's glasses. 'What sort of stories?' _

_ Ignis turned away and went into the kitchen to get another glass of water. _

_ Three hours later, his uncle took him aside. He was drunk. 'You can go to your room now. Try not to insult anyone else on your way there.' _

_ 'Thank you. Good night,' Ignis said, and went to his room. _

_ His phone was lying on his bed where he'd left it. There were thirty-two messages from Noct and he read each one with careful deliberation. For all that the majority were complaining about being bored, once finished Ignis scrolled straight back through to reread them. He realised he was smiling at the screen and stopped, self-conscious. He could hear laughter from the kitchen, which was next to his room. _

_ The last few texts were asking where he was and why wasn't he replying, treading the thin line between mock and actual entitlement that Noct seemed to have perfected walking. _

 

_ Ignis (1:10) – Dinner party, I told you this morning. Boring and food not even good _

_ Ignis (1:11) – Did you have a good dinner anyway? _

_ Ignis (1:11) – Also goldfish do grow large look it up if you don't believe me _

_ Ignis (1:13) – https://imsearch.lu/search?q=adult+big+goldfish _

_ Ignis (1:13) – Ignore the carp but the others are still big _

 

_ It was long past Noct's bedtime so he wasn't going to get an answer, but he waited a few minutes staring at the screen anyway. Then he went back to the computer, cross-legged in his desk chair, and started staring at Radix's essay instead – at least, the first five hundred words of what was meant to be Radix's essay. Even if he wrote non-stop from now until the lesson he wouldn't be able to finish it, he knew, but if he kept looking maybe he could find something intelligent to write about and it wouldn't be the complete and utter failure it was now. _

_ He yawned. His eyes were itching. He could still hear people laughing, and the sound buzzed in his ears like mosquitoes. Two hours later he was asleep at his desk. _

_ Four hours after that, he was sitting in Radix's office. It was fifteen minutes earlier than the lesson was due to start, but a few months ago he'd started to turn up early, and Radix always welcomed him in whatever the time, so long as he wasn't busy with a colleague or meeting. _

_ Waking up that morning, Ignis had thought that getting it over and done with would be the best thing. Now he wished he'd put it off. He resisted the urge to check his phone. Noct hadn't replied to his messages. Likely he was still asleep and wouldn't wake up, let alone reply, for another hour. _

_ 'Did you try, at least?' _

_ 'Yes, of course. I just... I didn't understand the final point of the question, and I couldn't find enough literature on it. I'm sorry. I tried... I read all of Auctor's work, but he didn't explain very much, and — I mean, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be making excuses.' _

_ Radix looked at him for a long moment. Ignis managed not to squirm in his seat, but he couldn't stop himself from breaking eye contact to stare at the desk. His throat felt tight, his eyes hot, and he dug his short fingernails into his thighs. _

_ 'Well, I won't say it's fine,' Radix said eventually, with a sigh, 'because you really should have got this. But at least you tried, so I can't give you no credit at all.' _

_ The relief at his words, and the tone of his voice — gentle, reproachful but not angry — hit harder than a slap would have. Ignis' shoulders dropped, tension unravelling, and the clutching dread in his stomach smoothed away until he felt giddy with the lack of it. 'Thank you,' he said, trying harder than ever not to cry, and Radix nodded, turning to pick up some papers. _

_ 'I'm afraid we can't go over it today, since we have to power on with the syllabus, and we can't afford to drop behind on that. But check your calendar and maybe we can try catch up when you have a free evening.' _

_ 'Thank you,' Ignis said again. He was crying, but from relief this time. _

_ Radix’s smile was evident in his voice, and kind as ever, he didn’t even comment on Ignis’ childish tears.  'Just so long as you tried. That’s all you can do.' _

_ It felt like nothing in the world meant more than those few words. _

The sound of the front door opening and closing pulled Ignis from the memory. His flat in Lestallum. Their flat in Lestallum — unless Prompto wanted to leave again. He blinked into the darkness and had to swallow back the sense of longing that gripped him, hard and sharp and unexpected enough to hurt.

'Ignis?' Prompto's voice was very slightly slurred. His shoes hit the floor from a height, and bounced. 'Hey. I'm back.'

Ignis considered, for a very brief moment, not replying. Then he said: 'What's the time?'

'Mm, dunno, hold on... twelve thirty. Thirty five. Wasn't gone for long, sorry, I didn't wanna leave you on your own...' Prompto laughed, a short, soft exhale from the doorway. 'I only had, like, two drinks before Dave turned up. Didn't even know he was here. He saw me and came over to sit with me. Turns out they just lost two guys he knew — hunters — so he was, y'know. Having a drink in their name. Sounded like they were friends. I dunno... dunno how close. Then he asked about me and why I was drinking in the middle of the day, and I was too embarrassed to say the truth so I just said, y'know, everything. All the little things just getting to me. And he nodded like he knew exactly what I meant, and we had another round but I couldn't face him after that, so I left. And I realised I didn't want to go bug Holly or anyone, I just wanted to see you. So I came back. I'm sorry, that's the most boring story ever, and I don't even... I don't even remember their names. Dave's friends' names.'

Prompto trailed off, coming into the room to stand in front of Ignis. His footsteps were hesitant.

'How do you know I'm not Ardyn?' Ignis said, moving his braille sheets to the side table.

Silence, then a sound at his feet and a weight on his leg. Prompto, sitting on the floor, rested his head on Ignis' thigh.

'Pretty sure Ardyn wouldn't say that if it were him,' he said; Ignis could feel his jaw moving with the words. 'How d'you know I'm not Ardyn?'

'Come to put me out of my misery,' Ignis murmured. He put a hand on Prompto's head, combing his fingers through his hair. 'Or put me in more misery, more likely.'

'With boring-ass stories, yeah.'

They sat in silence. Bouncing back and forth between emotions was exhausting; as a rule, Ignis tried not to do it. But when the situation was out of control, spiralling down and down, there wasn't much of an option but to cling on and hope for the best. It made him feel travel-sick. He wanted very much to get off and back on solid ground, if only he knew how.

He wondered if sending Prompto back to Hammerhead or wherever he'd been hunting before would help, or only make things worse.

Maybe he ought to give up. If he stopped struggling, stopped wanting, he could align himself with what Prompto wanted and cease their push and pull that way.

Anything to stop the uncontrollable spiral down. Prompto, at least, deserved better.

'Come here,' Ignis said, leaning forwards to grasp Prompto's arm and tug him in. Prompto let himself be tugged, crawling onto Ignis' lap and sitting with his knees pushed under the backrest cushions either side of Ignis' hips. Pressing his body to Ignis, fit flush, he rested his head on the side of Ignis' head. His breath was humid on Ignis' neck. He clung to Ignis' shirt, creasing it dreadfully as he clutched it hard it in his fists.

'I'm scared for you,' Prompto said. It came out a cracked whisper. 'When you say that kind of thing about Ardyn, and the way you've been, I just... I can't help but imagine like, worst-case scenarios. Like Ardyn's been following you and hurting you when you're alone, and I can't stand even thinking about it because what can I do? I don't know how to help. Don't know what to do. I haven't been doing anything but argue with you and push you away. I just...'

Ignis shook his head and wrapped his arms around Prompto's shoulders, pulling him in even tighter. 'I'm sorry,' he said, the irony of Prompto's fears lighting a tiny flame of humour in him, too small to surface but present nonetheless. Did Prompto realise, or was he entirely earnest? 'I never meant for you to think that. I promise — I have not knowingly been near Ardyn since Zegnautus Keep, and neither he nor anyone one has so much as laid a hand on me. I promise you that, Prompto.'

'Laid a hand on you since Zegnautus Keep? Or ever?'

Ignis hesitated, a split-second.

'It's fine.' Prompto's hands slipped down Ignis' sides, burrowing behind him to wrap around his waist. 'So long as I know you're not... being hurt, right now, it's fine. I won't try make you say it if you don't want to. I just want us to stop arguing.'

'I'm not being hurt,' Ignis said, before he could stop himself, because he could feel the words claw down a wall he hadn't even known existed, and there he was behind it: cowering, soft-skinned and vulnerable, and he could feel his heart beat hard in terror.

Anything to get back on solid ground. Anything to give Prompto what he deserved.

'Yeah,' Prompto said. 'Okay. That's good.'

He didn't have anything to say to that.

The way they were sitting was comforting, but not a particularly comfortable pose. He was starting to overheat, and being hunched over as he was couldn't be very kind on Prompto's back. They'd found a balance, but who was to say it wouldn't collapse the moment either of them moved? And they had to move sooner or later.

Prompto wouldn't put up with him forever. That meant Ignis had to get himself together. Stop falling apart at the slightest provocation.

He'd all but admitted what had happened. He wished he'd denied it instead.

_ 'Pay attention, Ignis. This will be important for your homework...' _

Prompto regularly second-guessed himself. Perhaps if Ignis denied it thoroughly enough Prompto might second-guess himself into believing the confession hadn't happened at all, or Prompto had misinterpreted it — though that was hardly the act of a loving partner, no matter how much the thought that Prompto knew twisted hard in his guts.

Perhaps all it would need would be to take Prompto aside and say that it had been an emotional moment and he hadn't realised how he'd come across – that of course he hadn't meant to imply he'd ever been touched by anyone, and he was very sorry for giving Prompto that impression. He had, of course, never been abused, sexually or otherwise. It would be slightly out of character, but Prompto was earnest enough, perhaps, to believe him.

It was that or let Prompto think he'd been raped, and the fluttering panic at the idea told him that that was unacceptable.

'So,' Prompto said. 'What do we do now?'

It was too soon to deny anything — if he did he'd no doubt come across as protesting much too hard. 'Are you still hungry?' It wasn't the most useful of questions — Prompto hadn't eaten in a while, since yesterday lunch, and he was therefore very likely hungry. Still, Ignis wasn't at all; his stomach was a tight knot, and he's hardly eaten anything in the same timeframe either.

Prompto mumbled something indistinct into Ignis' collarbone, then sat back. 'Sure,' he said. 'Let's eat.'

It occurred to Ignis that he was avoiding the topic again, and that was something Prompto didn't want, but it was too late to do anything about it now.

They ate the rice, vegetables and egg Ignis had offered what seemed like days ago. Prompto would notice and comment if Ignis didn't have his half, so he forced it down and told himself it wasn't a waste, because he needed to eat after all, even if he didn't feel like it.

The sound of Prompto's fork clicking off the plate as he toyed with his food accompanied the entire meal. It only stopped when Ignis collected the dishes to wash up, brushing away Prompto's customary offer to help.

It was Sunday. He still, technically, had the rest of the day off. He felt listless, restless energy swirling inside him in useless eddies. The feeling bothered him immensely.

'Hey,' Prompto said, when Ignis had finished with the dishes and went back to sit in the living room. There was sound of paper crinkling. 'If I do write you a note in the future, where do you want me to put it? So you can find it.'

_ 'Did you write that down? ... Ignis — are you feeling well? You look a little peaky.' _

_ 'I'm fine, sir.' He could feel himself flush with embarrassment that Radix had noticed. No one else had; he'd thought he'd managed to hide it. 'It’s just a cold.' _

_ ‘Are you sure?’ _

_ He was so sure he’d opened his mouth to say  _ Yes,  _ that he was completely taken by surprise when what he actually said was: ‘My head hurts. I feel dizzy when I stand up. I think… I think it’s getting worse.’ _

The first impulse was to think of somewhere secret to put notes, because it wouldn't be acceptable to have them lying just anywhere where anyone could find and read them. Then he caught himself – the messages were highly unlikely to be of national importance, but rather of the  _ I've gone out, won't be back until evening  _ kind. It wouldn't matter at all if someone else found them.

'The bedroom door, on the doorknob' Ignis said, trying to sound confident about his decision. Prompto made a noise of agreement as he scrunched up the paper he was holding. A waste of what was presumably a good sheet; Ignis held his tongue.

'Sure,' Prompto said. His voice sounded altogether entirely too light.

'We have the rest of the afternoon,' Ignis said. 'Was there anything you wanted to do?' Practically speaking he really ought to practice his braille, or do some more of the endlessly piling up mountain of work he had waiting for him, but he needed to make it up to Prompto somehow. Prompto enjoyed cuddling on the bed or sofa, or jogging around the city parameter, or drinking in the bar with Holly or the friends he'd made in hunter training.

Prompto didn't answer straight away. There was the sound of him crossing the room and rearranging a few of the souvenirs he'd picked up, though Ignis couldn't tell which. He needed to dust. When was the last time he'd dusted?

Prompto made a vague noise. 'I don't mind,' he said. 'Didn't have anything planned. Maybe I should avoid the bar, in case I run into Dave again.'

Was he still angry? Ignis reached out to try find his braille sheets and couldn't, patting the side table and finding nothing there. Feeling foolish, he stopped searching and sat back down. If Prompto had noticed he didn't say anything. It was hard to convince himself that Prompto hadn't noticed, and stop the flush of embarrassment that made him want to turn away and retreat into the bedroom.

Prompto sighed, still fidgeting. 'I was thinking,' he said, dragging out the words. The temptation to interject  _ please don't strain yourself  _ flickered, but Ignis shoved it away. The feeling wasn't there; it would fall flat.

'Yes?' he prompted, when the silence stretched on long enough to judge that Prompto wanted a little push.

'Just, y'know. I was thinking about what I said. About heading back to Hammerhead.'

The words hit Ignis like a bucket of water, and poured a cold, hard feeling through his chest, lodging itself in the pit of his stomach. He barely heard the next words: 'I know you said you had work, and I know you're important here, but... it'd just be good to get out on the road together, mini road-trip. Change of scenery. We could time it so we meet up with Gladio. They could use you in Hammerhead, I know it. I think...'

Prompto didn't finish what he thought, trailing off into silence. Ignis heart was beating very fast all of a sudden. He was sweating despite feeling cold. 'Ah,' he said. 'I'd better not.'

'Why?' That was too quick a reply for Prompto not to have anticipated Ignis' answer, Ignis managed to realise, for all that the rushed beat of his heart was drowning out his thoughts.

'I am hardly capable,' he said, then betrayed all of his training by trailing off and letting Prompto cut in.

'Bullshit. You were in Galdin Quay for years. You fought there. Why'd you then but can't now?'

It felt like the start of another argument. Even though he knew full well the answer – and the answer was Noct, and he'd had to fight there to protect Noct, because what was he without Noct? But he hadn't been enough, they'd lost Galdin Quay, and now he was so far away – he turned his head and didn't say anything. This sort of aversion had usually worked with Noct, who'd always felt better after a long sulk, but Prompto wanted quick resolution. He only felt worse the longer things dragged out. Ignis needed to change his strategy. Twenty years of ingrained aversion to conflict did not tend to leave on command.

'That was quite different.' He forced out the words, half-sure that the next one would be the one where he misstepped, spilt something he needed to keep secret. He could feel the prickle of sweat in his armpits, and the soft texture of his trousers under his hands. He resisted the urge to wipe them on his thighs. 'For a start, saying I fought there is a bit of an exaggeration. I provided backup, when necessary, which was rarely. Just the two of us on the road would be a very dangerous scenario; I wouldn't be able to support you sufficiently if it came to it.'

There: adequate. He'd been honest, and hadn't said anything he shouldn't have. The ball was back in Prompto's court, and he already had solid defences for each of his statements, waiting only for Prompto's choice in one to attack.

Prompto tapped out a rapid beat with his the pads of his fingers on the table, then stopped abruptly. 'I think you're wrong,' he said. 'But I'm not gonna argue.'

A small bite of irritation. He should have predicted that.

_ 'Ignis,' Radix said. 'I'm not sure you're taking this seriously.' _

'When will you go?' he said.

_ 'You need to pass this exam.' _

'I'm not. I mean, I'm thinking about it, but it's not like I've actually planned anything yet. I wasn't just gonna spring it on you then leave right away.'

'Ah.'

The tapping resumed, on and off in short bursts. 'Iggy, you know I'm not moving out permanently, right? Not unless you wanted me to. I just need to get out a bit. See Gladio, and Cindy and Cid too. I wanted you to come with me, y'know? I thought it'd be good.'

'I see. Well, they keep a rotation schedule in the offices, so I can find out when Gladio will be in Hammerhead for you tomorrow. In fact, it's been a little while so I imagine I can get them to radio in for the most up to date version, if one hasn't arrived already. By Tuesday, perhaps. By the end of the week, certainly.'

'Don't you miss him?'

It was Ignis' turn to tap his fingers, thought it was against his thigh and made no sound. 'Of course,' he said. 'The four of us, in the Regalia. More than anything.'

Prompto stood and crossed the room to stand by the window. Downstairs, there was the familiar sound of a man shouting at his children. One child – Ignis could never quite tell them apart through the floor – shouted back.

'I'll miss you,' Prompt said, the soft noise of him leaning against the windowsill accompanying the words, then the scuffling sound of him kicking his feet. 'If I do go.'

There wasn't a question in there, so Ignis didn't answer. He got up to go into the bedroom to check the time, make sure his braille wasn't on the bedside table though there really was no reason for it to be. The time was ten past one, and the bedside table empty beside the clock. He came back out again, only to very almost bump into Prompto in the doorway. Their arms knocked as they moved back away from each other.

'Apologies,' Ignis said.

'Nah,' Prompto said, and hesitated a bit before following Ignis back into the main room. 'That was all me. Your reflexes are better than mine and I can, you know. See.'

Ignis smiled, though he wasn't entirely sure Prompto would catch it from where he stood. He stopped smiling abruptly as Prompto continued.

'Does training help? I guess it would, wouldn't it. How'd you do it on your own? Or you probably have someone to help, right. Talcott? Or someone else?'

Ignis sat back down on the sofa, then wished he'd sat at the table so he could distract his hands with writing, or the pages of practice braille he was sure must be there. Prompto didn't know he didn't train, then. And, he supposed, why would he? It wasn't as if being desperately negligent in training was particular characteristic of him, after all. And Prompto must have assumed, in his low self-esteem, that Ignis simply hadn't thought to include him in on it.

But Prompto was waiting for a reply, that much was obvious, and his tone of voice betrayed the fact that it had been a genuine question rather than a trap, or attempt to make Ignis spill yet more uncomfortable secrets.

It would be unfortunate to lie to him, for a variety of reasons, the main two being that lying to a loved one was, for the most part, the morally poor choice, and that this lie in particular could be easily disproved.

All it would take would be a few innocent questions to the right people for Prompto to discover that Ignis hadn't trained with anyone. And saying that he'd trained alone would fail when he was entirely unable to prove anything except his utter incompetence, and therefore lack of training – he could feel the burning shame of it at merely the thought.

He'd already lied to Prompto more than enough.

'In instances such as that, simply being attentive in everyday life seems to be enough,' Ignis said. 'Getting to and from work is plenty of practice.'

'Huh, yeah, I guess.'

He didn't know how to answer that, and Prompto didn't pick the conversation back up. Was that all they had to say? Not that Ignis wanted to carry on this particular line of questioning, but the way it fell apart so easily was... uncomfortable, perhaps. Particularly when considering the last few days. He was used to Prompto's chatter filling in the dark spaces around him.

Prompto would be going soon, anyway. He might as well get used to it.

He should probably be doing something useful rather than sitting here, an utter waste of space.

'I'm gonna go out,' Prompto said, after a few more achingly long moments. The invitation was clear in the tone of his voice; Ignis pretended he hadn't heard it.

'Best of luck avoiding Dave,' he said, absently. Maybe he could go to the office and get a little more work done, and ask about the hunters' rotation schedule.

'They were rebuilding some of old hunters' headquarters, by the courtyard. Was gonna see if they needed a hand.'

'Of course.' It wasn't as if he could do anything but wait on the sidelines, possibly saying something motivational every now and again.

'Right. Sure,' Prompto said.

Silence fell between them. Well, that could have gone better: here he was, already ruining things. Frustration, like a splinter wedged under a fingernail, and he couldn't stop himself from pressing it in deeper. Of course, the major difference here was that he was also hurting Prompto.

He took a breath, holding in his mouth for a second. 'I'm not sure I could do much on a construction site other than get in the way,' he said – a short, sharp intake from Prompto. 'But my office is nearby, so after you're done we can walk home together, or perhaps to do something in the evening.'

'Shit,' Prompto said. 'I'm sorry, I didn't think. Um, we could do something else. I mean, instead of me helping out.'

'Nonsense. That would be a far more worthy use of your time.'

'I just get so used to you around home, cooking and doing everything, and walking round the place! It's just, you just seem so capable.' Prompto was talking quickly, blurting the words in his rush to get them out. 'I wasn't thinking. Shit, I should've thought.'

'Prompto,' Ignis said, as firmly as he could without making it harsh. 'Go and help out, even for an hour or two. I'll be in my office; turn up whenever you're ready. Then we can spend the rest of the day together.'

'Are – are you sure?'

'Yes. Now just wait a moment for me to get ready, then we can walk together.'


	6. Chapter 6

Talcott's voice had begun to break a good few months ago; he'd started speaking quietly and less often to hide the fact. His voice now was loud and excited and cracking but carrying on anyway — Ignis very nearly didn't parse his actual wording.

Then he did, and his throat tightened, strangling him, which was utterly the wrong reaction but his body refused to cooperate.

'He must have swapped with someone — he'll be here on Friday! That's so cool, I can't believe he'll be here so soon! I haven't seen Gladio in ages.'

Gladio was arriving. The end of the week. The very first thought Ignis had was:  _ he'll take Prompto with him when he leaves. _ It warred with the rush of wordless emotion, gladness and longing, relief, the aching need for someone who'd been raised like him, who understood him better than anyone else left, that filled up his chest. His second thought was:  _ he'll be able to see right through me. _

The third to eighth thoughts collided with each other and tangled.  _ What if he's arriving here because he's been hurt, badly, and can no longer fight? What if he’s dying? Prompto will be so happy to see him. Prompto won't need to leave, now. I'll need to prepare a bed and a decent meal for him when he arrives. He will think I’m hideous; he won’t want to touch me. _

He hoped Talcott was excited enough not to notice how he was not suitably excited.

'I shall have to find a spare bed,' he said, his long years of training in making polite yet inane conversation kicking in, like a built-in surge protector. 'Was there a reason for the sudden change?'

‘Don’t know,' Talcott said. 'If there was they didn't tell me.'

He was too distracted to do much more than note the pointedness of Talcott's statement, the way he kept pushing to be included, to be allowed to learn to fight and be a hunter like Gladio and Iris and Prompto. But Ignis’ head was still caught up on Gladio. If they hadn’t told Talcott anything at all then it was likely that it was not truly serious — or not. It depended entirely on who had passed along the message. Without more information Ignis could not say one way or another.

'Ah,' Ignis said. 'I hope it's nothing serious, then.'

'He probably just wanted to see us,' Talcott said, and Ignis smiled at him, and nodded, and didn't say anything more.

With waiting for Prompto as an excuse, at least he could avoid being dragged out of his office. Talcott was also happy to stay and read to Ignis, much faster than Ignis could himself, and together they went over the problem of a recent spate of vigilante crime. Talcott liked Ignis, the gods knew why. He liked spending time with him and defended that time zealously, so he made a suitable shield from others trying to settle themselves into Ignis’ office.

The rap at the door a couple of hours later was immediately recognisable as Prompto, though he came in without waiting for Ignis to show off that knowledge and let him in by name. 'Hey, dude,' he said to Talcott, like everything was normal and fine. 'Hey, Iggy.'

'Good afternoon,' Ignis said, and sat back and let Talcott deliver the news.

They didn't talk about it until they were out of the office, and, Ignis assumed, out of Talcott’s hearing. 'So,' Prompto said. 'Gladio, huh.'

'Gladio,' Ignis said agreeably, waiting for Prompto to give something up, say more so Ignis could understand what he was trying to get at before he said something incriminating himself. Prompto had his hand on Ignis’ elbow, guiding him. By now Ignis knew the streets of Lestallum, the stairs and curbs and where chairs were placed outside the cafe on the route back home — but when it was busy and there were children playing on the streets, boxes from deliveries, and scraps of rubbish left lying for him to trip on, it was easier to let Prompto guide him. And Prompto liked it regardless of how useful Ignis found it.

'You don't seem… uh.'

'Ah, well.' Ignis said. 'I suppose I'm just worried as to the reason he's arriving off schedule.'

'You think he's hurt? Bad enough to need time out?'

'It's a possibility. We shouldn't assume it's the case, but we know that he's not needed here enough to justify taking him from elsewhere.'

'They're not slave drivers, you know,' Prompto said, and he pulled on Ignis’ elbow, leading him a few steps to the left then back again to the right, skirting something in their path. 'If he needed a break, a change of scenery, he'd be able to get it. Not like he won't also be working here. And besides, he has favours built up like woah.'

'Indeed,' Ignis said. 'But this is Gladio we're talking about. Since when has he cashed in favours to avoid taking the brunt of the work?'

Prompto made a sound, a not-quite agreement. 'Sure. But, you know. Maybe someone here wanted to see people over where he was, and he figured he could come see us, so he swapped because of that. I’ve been asked to move around like that before. Maybe nothing's wrong. It doesn't have to be.'

His voice had gone soft and careful. 'Prompto,' Ignis said, trying to make it firm and only managing, to his ears, to sound tired. 'You don't need to convince me. And at any rate, we'll find out ourselves on Friday.'

'Yeah. Yeah, guess that's true. You can't go shake down whoever does the routes and radio to find out sooner, can you?'

'If they knew something significant they would have told Talcott, or if it were sensitive, told him to tell me to ask.'

'Oh.'

Prompto's hand trailed down Ignis’ arm, touching his wrist and curling his fingers around it. His skin was cold, slightly gritty, a little damp. 'You doing okay?' he said, and they were very almost home, so Ignis waited until they'd unlocked the door to their apartment building and were walking up the stairs before answering.

'Yes,' he said. 'Where do you suppose we can find a spare bed? Or mattress at the very least. Does Holly have one?'

'Guess he's too big to fit on the couch, huh.'

'Unless he’s lost his feet. Though then I suppose he ought to take your place on the bed. Pride or not he’ll have no leg to stand on.'

Prompto snorted. 'That's terrible,' he said, if without much feeling. ‘I’m gonna go ahead and hope he does have legs to stand on.’ The keys jangled in his hand as he opened the front door, and Ignis put a hand on his back to avoid walking into him when they entered and stopped to take off their shoes.

'Like,’ Prompto said, once they were inside and the door closed. He paused, taking off his coat from the sounds of it, and going to wash his hands — his face?

He didn’t continue, and Ignis didn’t feel up for pushing it. He wanted a distraction; he wanted to please Prompto. Do something right for once. He went to the bedroom to change out of his work clothes — a vestigial habit, since his work clothes were no longer the sort that needed to be kept from everyday life, dry cleaned, crisp and difficult to relax in. It was, regardless, a habit he hadn’t bothered to break. The routine of taking off his work clothes and folding them, hanging them up, putting them away neatly before he got into another set for home, was something to do with his hands. It reminded him of being with Noct. Sunlight. Not wondering if loved ones were dead or not with no way of telling. A better life. 

On a whim he chose an old, tight t-shirt, soft and thin, that showed off his collarbones and Prompto called  _ really, really gay, no offence. _ He also knew Prompto loved the t-shirt — had loved the t-shirt — and hesitated, wondering if a planned seduction would be unwelcome. He didn’t know if Prompto would turn him down, say he wanted to go out again with his friends, say he wasn’t in the mood, that he no longer thought of Ignis in that way now that he knew.

Feeling idiotic, standing half naked, clutching the scrap of fabric in his hands, Ignis didn’t have time to react when he heard footsteps and the movement of air as the door swung open. He looked in Prompto’s direction, resisting the urge to move his hands and hide the t-shirt.

All of a sudden he felt old, weak, and thin. He’d lost muscle mass, he knew, but how much? How obvious was it? Prompto was as wiry and muscled as he’d ever been, or more. They’d both lost body fat, because everyone had with so little food, but Prompto’s body was still perfect. Even his scars were, because they showed him as a fighter, a protector, someone who contributed.

Prompto was standing in the doorway, waiting for something, Ignis guessed. He didn’t need the t-shirt to seduce Prompto. All he needed was confirmation on his part that Prompto wasn’t intruding — that he was welcome in Ignis’ bedroom. He was already part of the way undressed; all it would take would be to go to Prompto, touch his waist and lean down to kiss him. He’d done it a thousand times already.

Prompto had done it a thousand times to him, too. Why wasn’t he initiating this time, when he had the advantage of sight, and Ignis was clearly faltering?

‘Do you want,’ Ignis said, and hesitated, cowardly, letting the last part go unspoken and leaving himself a way out.

‘Want what, Iggy?’ Prompto said, and even as he spoke he managed to swallow down the tentativeness of the first word and become playful by the last.

Ignis dropped the damn t-shirt and turned to face Prompto, spreading his arms a little, cocking his hip forward.

‘Hell yeah I want that,’ Prompto said, already moving forwards.

Prompto was damp all over, the skin of his arms and neck raised with goosebumps. He had bits of something in his hair and down his collar — flakes of plaster or wood shaving, perhaps. He was going to get them all over the bed, Ignis thought as he let Prompto push him back down onto the mattress, kissing and trying to tug off clothes at the same time.

Radix had felt hot, almost burningly so, but Ignis had realised later that it’d been himself who’d caused that illusion, cold and shivering as he’d laid splayed out on the bed. It only made sense.

He didn’t want to think about Radix, or Gladio, or his own, skinny, unattractive body. He ran his hands over Prompto, helping him out of his clothes, tasting the sweat and dust on him as he kissed down his chest. Prompto groaned and pushed his hips forwards as Ignis took a hold of his cock, teasing it with a loose grip, wanting to cover himself in Prompto. He didn’t know why Prompto wanted him, but selfishly, he didn’t care. He’d take Prompto and what Prompto gave him for as long as he was allowed, and every moment consider it a blessing.

And if Gladio didn’t want anything to do with him, there was nothing he could do. If Gladio no longer wanted him, only Prompto, it was his own fault for not being better. If Prompto decided he’d go with Gladio instead, then it would be what was best, and he would give them his blessings.

He pushed Prompto down on his back and got on his knees to suck his cock, touching Prompto’s balls in one hand and stroking his own cock with the other. He didn’t want Prompto to be looking at his face, so he dragged it out, teasing and pulling back to kiss and nip Prompto’s hip and thighs, and made sure to rub out a hard, jittery orgasm with Prompto’s cock down his throat so that Prompto wouldn’t feel any need to drag him up and reciprocate.

The noises Prompto was making were raw and gasping; he gripped Ignis’ hair and squirmed with his whole body. Ignis wanted him to fall apart with pleasure; he wanted him to forget everything in how good it felt. He wanted Prompto to want him. He wanted Prompto — his body, his brightness, his love, keeping Ignis grounded. Making every day bearable. His grace and forgiveness, even if Ignis didn’t deserve it. He wanted Gladio and Gladio’s understanding.

He wanted Noct.

Afterwards they washed up together, finally getting rid of the flakes now covering the both of them. Ignis dusted off the bed as best he could then sat and practiced his braille with Prompto curled up behind him, squashed between Ignis and the back of the sofa as he read, or dozed, or did something silently and motionlessly.

What did he want?

Not this. Not himself. Not this life he had.

That was what he didn’t want. What did he want?

Friday. Not long at all. There was a deep ache in his chest, but he couldn’t tell if it was longing or fear.


	7. Chapter 7

Gladio arrived without fanfare, turning up at Ignis’ office just before lunch. ‘Hey,’ he said, letting himself in without knocking.

The possibility that he was in fact Ardyn had, over the past few days, occured to both Ignis and Prompto independently. Ignis hadn’t said anything on the matter, and Prompto had brought it up with a forced lightness, as if wondering whether Gladio would bring back souvenirs.

‘I suppose if he is,’ Ignis had said, ‘there’s not much we can do about it until he arrives.’

Perhaps Ardyn had killed Gladio. Perhaps Gladio was safe and well somewhere on the other side of the continent. Or perhaps he really was heading to Lestallum, for whatever reasons he had.

‘I guess.’ Then they’d changed the topic and hadn’t bring it up again.

‘Damn,’ Gladio said as he closed the door behind him. He sounded tired and a little hoarse, but otherwise no different from how Ignis remembered him. ‘You look worse than I do.’

Ignis straightened in his chair and turned his head up to face him. ‘I’d imagine so,’ he said. ‘Having no eyes will do that to a man.’

Gladio laughed, and it felt like someone punched Ignis between the ribs. He was breathless before Gladio made it over to him and yanked him up into a hug.

‘I missed your smartass mouth,’ he said, crushing Ignis to his broad chest, a cage of muscle and warmth.

‘Better smartass than dumbass,’ Ignis said, not trying to fight as Gladio laughed and squeezed tighter. He stank of smoke and stale sweat and the metallic tang of mechanics. He didn’t smell of blood or the terrible, pungent scent of daemons.

It was not possible, Ignis thought somewhat wildly, that Ardyn could mimic anything this overwhelming — this heat of Gladio’s affection. Ardyn could not make his chest loosen when he himself hadn’t known it’d been so tight it hurt. He’d been terrified of Gladio seeing him, Gladio knowing his failures and showing everyone his uselessness, but now that Gladio was here, real and solid, with his laughter and strength, Ignis couldn’t feel anything but relief so great he was weak with it.

Gladio alone knew what it had been like, growing up with the weight of their duties, their lost childhoods, given away to a boy they couldn’t help but love, adore, and resent in equal measures. Gladio knew what it was like to listen to people talk about what they’d wanted to be as children, and to remember not having known that options existed at all. Gladio knew how it felt to be six years old and taken aside in disaster prep and informed that while everyone else was being told to protect themselves first and foremost, he had to protect the prince first.

Gladio was the shoulder strong enough to support him, the ear that not only listened but understood. He was good advice. He cared. He resisted bullshit from his peers, from Ignis, from Noct. When Ignis folded and obeyed, Gladio stood strong and did what was right.

‘I have missed you,’ Ignis said, past the lump in his throat that made the words come out humiliatingly thin and close to breaking. The humiliation made him push away, weakly, because no matter how much his face burnt in shame his body wanted Gladio to hold him up. Support him. Let him know that for a while at least Ignis could pass over the reins to someone he trusted unconditionally.

‘Wow.’ Somehow, Ignis hadn’t heard the door open and Prompto walk in. ‘Get a room, you two.’

‘This is my room,’ Ignis said, as archly as he could, trying to push away from Gladio with his hands on Gladio’s shoulders. Gladio didn’t let him, holding him against his chest, arms like a vice around his lower back. The sheer strength of him was like shoving against a cliff-face; Ignis stopped trying, red-faced.

Prompto laughed and came up around the side of Ignis. He fit himself in, shoving his shoulders in between Ignis and Gladio, and said, ‘Group hug selfie!’

It was impossible to tell if he’d actually taken a photo: Gladio’s rumbling chuckle would’ve drowned out any sound of it, and Prompto had pretended to have his camera out several times before to force Ignis to sit up and pay attention. If he had taken the photo Ignis was sure he was pulling a particularly unphotogenic expression. The fact that he could not push away from Gladio, who was holding him tight, was unsurprising — Gladio had always been stronger, and he hadn’t been sitting at a desk the last few years — but it still stung, worse than he’d thought. He could feel himself flush with embarrassment and turned his face away so that Prompto, at least, could not see it.

‘All right,’ Gladio said, and let go. Ignis stumbled a bit as he found his feet, and Gladio put a hand under his arm to steady him. Ignis shook him off. ‘It’s lunch time, I’m hungry, and I have actual meat. I’m not gonna say how I got my hands on it, but we should probably get rid of the evidence ASAP. I’m just saying.’

Prompto laughed, bright and sunny, and when Ignis stepped back he had to reach around with one hand to find his desk and orientate himself with it. It had felt, for a dizzying second, that he’d stepped back into a void. The same void that had swallowed him when he’d first been blinded, all those years ago. ‘All right,’ Prompto said. ‘Iggy, if that siren call doesn’t seduce you away from your desk, you’re not the man I fell in love with.’

It was a joke; it was very clearly a joke. ‘Perhaps I should leave you and Gladio to find a room,’ he said, lips quirking. He could spin it as a pun on _Gladio’s_ _meat_ , but reading the atmosphere seemed harder than it should be, all of a sudden. He’d be able to read it if he weren’t blind. No, better not make a joke.

‘Nooo, c’mon Iggy.’ Prompto grabbed his arm, tugging at it. ‘Don’t be like that. Not in front of Gladio. You make me look like an awful boyfriend.’

He needed to say something, because otherwise Gladio would be able to tell something was wrong, if he hadn’t already. The thought was exhausting, and then it was too late to reply.

Gladio saved him from the extending pause. ‘So are we going or not?’ he said, so Ignis turned to pack up, and they went back home.

On the way Gladio filled them in on the state of the country, as seen from on the ground. ‘It’s stabilising,’ he said. ‘We lost a couple outposts, sure, but we’ve known they were toast for months, one place years, and got everything out before they went down. The most important places are secured. The quality over quantity method seems to be working better anyway.’

It wasn’t anything that Ignis didn’t know, though the detail was new. The reverse seemed to hold for Prompto: he was less aware of the overall infrastructure and logistics of the network of humanity stretched across the darkness like spider webbing, but he didn’t seem much inquisitive about the daily workings. He asked about a few people, and most of them Gladio didn’t know anything of even if he recognised them. Half of the rest he said were fine or mostly fine; the other half were dead.

They got back home and Gladio presented the meat — he didn’t say what it was, other than he was pretty sure it wasn’t human — to Ignis, proud, and Ignis took it and opened the bag tentatively. It didn’t smell terribly off. It wasn’t fresh, to be sure, but it wasn’t rancid either. It was perhaps 200g. No skin or bone, no defining features. Blood was pooling in the bottom of the thin plastic bag.

There was a sound of bodies hitting each other, and the creak of floorboards, and laughter and breathlessness. ‘Please don’t break anything,’ Ignis said, standing next to the stove, and all of a sudden felt like the thin slab of meat he held, slowly warming up in his hands. No one replied to him. From the sounds of it Prompto and Gladio were continuing on exactly as they had been before he’d spoken.

He didn’t want to say it again, so he turned, tying the bag back up to place on a plate and in the fridge. What should he do with it? He ought to cook it as soon as possible, before it did go off, but he couldn’t think of what to make with it. Should he make a strong sauce to cover any unfortunate tastes, or should he make as light an accompaniment as possible to highlight that there was real, actual meat present in the dish?

He didn’t know what to do. What would Prompto want? Gladio? He didn’t know. He should ask them. They might not reply again.

The sounds on the other side of the room stopped.

‘Iggy?’ It was Gladio, with the leftover laughter still in his voice. Then: ‘Hey, Iggy, you all right?’

‘I’m fine,’ Ignis said automatically, feeling eyes on his back and disliking it immensely. The room was too crowded with the three of them there. Or maybe he needed to be closer. Touch, skin on skin. He couldn’t tell. He didn’t want to be the one who made the next decision.

There was some wordless, near-soundless communication between Gladio and Prompto. He wanted to be outside. He wanted to be pressed between them again, like he had been in his office.

‘You sure about that?’ Wonderful Gladio, always calling out the bullshit he smelt. There was a distinct tone of challenge to him.

‘I am indeed,’ Ignis said, still facing the counter, the wall where there was a large crack in the plaster he hadn’t realised was there until two years after moving in. Prompto was notably silent. There was a pause. More wordless communication.

‘Want to come over here instead of standing in the corner like a spooked chocobo, then?’

‘I’m quite all right here,’ Ignis said. ‘Did you have any preferences for what I’m to do with your delightful present?’

‘What?’ Gladio sounded, for a moment, wrong-footed. ‘Oh right, the meat? I already said I don’t, but let’s not change the subject, yeah?’

‘I’ve already said I’m fine,’ Ignis said, snapping without meaning to. Or perhaps he had meant to. Gladio was observant but not that observant, and Ignis was hardly a child in masking what he needed to. He must have, to some degree, meant to have drawn Gladio’s attention.

Attention-seeking like a child, or an unsatisfied housewife. It just made him angrier. Trapped in the corner of his pathetic kitchen, trying to think of a meal for a scrap of meat. He couldn’t leave now, though, or it’d make it even worse.

‘I heard, just don’t believe you.’ Gladio had that tone of voice that was bordering aggressive but mostly mothering, smothering, betraying him as 198cm of muscle and the urge to mother-hen. He was tired and had presumably been looking forward to being around his friends, so even more likely to push and push until he got _something_ , even if it weren’t a problem, let alone the problem at hand.

‘Your daemon-hunting teambuilding didn’t do anything for your trust issues, then,’ Ignis said, and turned so that he was facing Gladio, at least. He rested his hip against the kitchen counter, needing to feel its solid presence.

‘Oh, I could trust them,’ Gladio said. ‘What the fuck is up with you, Iggy? You mad I’m cockblocking your hot date night with Prompto?’

Given that Ignis had been, if anything, stand-offish and cool towards Prompto in front of Gladio, Gladio bringing him in was probably a trap.

‘I knew you were arriving a week ago,’ Ignis said. ‘We’ve had plenty of time alone, with you off in the wilds with your trusted friends, but thank you for your concern.’

‘So what I’m hearing is you’re jealous,’ Gladio said, and Ignis was almost certain that he hadn’t caught the way Ignis’ jaw had clenched, but then Gladio had grown up immersed in Insomnia’s Court and politics for even longer than Ignis had. And Ignis couldn’t exactly see Gladio’s reaction in turn.

‘Of you?’ Ignis said, but the hollowness swelled in his chest, creeping violently up his throat, and all he could think of was how Gladio and Prompto had sounded as they’d laughed minutes before, and Gladio’s strong body, his handsome dark hair and perfect jawline. His sightedness. The friends he trusted as he went with them and hunted daemons.

‘Sure, why not.’

‘Hardly,’ Ignis said, but it was thin, and the hollowness in his throat spilled out when he opened his mouth.

‘Yeah right.’ There was the sound of Gladio — grabbing? Picking up? — Prompto, and Prompto’s accompanying noise of surprise, but not protest. ‘Scared Prompto’s going to run off with me?’

‘ _Gladio—_ ’ That was Prompto, finally piping up. He still hissed between his teeth, a whisper, as if Ignis were hard of hearing as well as blind. ‘What the _fuck_?’

Prompto might be flighty and the majority of his bravado false, but he was also loyal, and fiercely so. He would have protested more had there not been something more between him and Gladio. A soundless reassurance, a call to trust whatever stunt Gladio had decided to pull at Ignis’ expense. Instead there was nothing but another heavy sound of the two of them crashing down onto the sofa.

‘Well, Iggy?’ Gladio seemed happy to carry on pushing his luck. Ignis stood there and felt adrift. Since they’d been young Gladio’s way of fixing things was to break them down first, take them to pieces and reassemble the parts. But had he ever been this aggressive? He’d have backed off by now normally, Ignis was sure.

Or maybe it was Ignis who was too passive, now. A younger Ignis would have fought back harder, faster.

He couldn’t fight now; he was weaker, fragile like glass. Gladio’s brand of destructive rebuilding would shatter him if he stayed any longer. ‘If he’s happy with you, then by all means,’ Ignis said as he made for the way out. It felt like running away because it was, but Ignis’ pride wasn’t enough to stop him from grasping for his shoes, ready to get away. Just being near them was unbearable. ‘I’ll let you two get on with it.’

‘Okay, so first of all what the fuck, and secondly hold on right there,’ Gladio said, and with a silent suddenness that was utterly frustrating for its familiarity, predictability, ease of performance, he moved right up behind Ignis. Ignis flinched away and stumbled into the shoe rack, but Gladio’s arms around his belly caught him and tugged him back. He hit Gladio’s chest and Gladio pulled him in tighter.

‘Whoa there,’ Gladio said, like Ignis was a half-wild chocobo. ‘Not so fast.’

Ignis struggled, trying to pull from the vice-like grip of Gladio’s arms, which was of course impossible. The heat of his bare chest and arms went straight through Ignis’ clothes like hot water, making them stick to him, pulling at his own skin.

‘So you’re going to just run away? The Iggy I knew wouldn’t do that.’

The sheer cruelty of the accusation took Ignis’ breath away. It took him a moment just to gather it back enough to reply.

‘I haven’t been the Iggy you knew in a long time,’ he said, and saying it felt like lancing a wound; old blood and pus pouring out of him, leaving him raw and skinless. It hurt even just to say the words.

‘Iggy—’

‘I haven’t been him for five years and you know it, so why you want to bring it up, I don’t know.’ He was breathless again, hands scraping against Gladio’s arms with no result except to prove his own weakness. ‘You’re the blind one if you think I’m not—’

‘ _Ignis._ ’

He felt himself be hauled back to the sofa like it were someone else’s body in Gladio’s arms. He felt like he’d been left behind by the door, still grasping for his shoes, and only a thin line connected him to his body. He wondered suddenly what he looked like, then just as quickly knew that he did not want to know.

‘What _happened_?’ Gladio’s voice rang in his ears like a bell.

‘What the hell do you think happened,’ Ignis snarled, and realised half-way through that given his tone he was probably speaking to Prompto. He still couldn’t stop himself.

‘And just to make sure, you’re talking about five years ago?’ Gladio pulled him down onto his lap on the sofa, and Ignis could do nothing to prevent himself ending up sprawled on his lap, still held tight and close. One of Gladio’s legs hooked over his own and held them down. His arms held Ignis’ arms to his body.

‘Was there another time we lost Noct as the literal apocalypse occured, and I missed it?’

‘Catty,’ Gladio said. ‘There’s the Ignis we know and love.’ He sounded sarcastic.

‘Just get off me.’

Something landed on Ignis’ arm, just below his elbow, and gripped him there. He was overheating; he couldn’t tell what it was. Gladio did not let him go, and his arms were trapped, so he couldn’t even shake the thing from him. He knew he should be able to get out from Gladio’s grip. He had done before, countless times. He knew he knew how, but his body was still distant and far too hot, uncontrollable, a bug or broken mechanism stopping him from doing what he ought to be able to.

‘Get off. Just let me go.’

‘Why don’t you make me?’

The laugh that burst from Ignis mouth was more like a cry. He struggled, but it was pointless against Gladio’s strength. ‘Make you? Of course I can’t. I can’t do anything. I can’t—’ he said. ‘ _You’re going to fail,’ Radix said._

‘I’m not enough,’ Ignis said, in the silence that followed, and his body decided on that moment to go limp and give up. ‘Not any more.’

He felt Gladio take a long, shuddery breath in, his chest rising, his belly pressing up into Ignis’ back and side. ‘Well no fucking shit,’ he said, ‘how much weight have you lost? What’s your training regime like?’

‘Nothing. I don’t train,’ Ignis said, as if he could spite Gladio with the fact, hurt him at least part of how it hurt himself to say, a secret torn up and out of him, roots still attached in his flesh. ‘I have a desk job. The most exercise I get is the times I still fall down the stairs.’

He hadn’t fallen down the stairs in years. He didn’t care. He just wanted them to hurt at least a little of how he was hurting.

The grip on his arm tightened and Ignis realised it was Prompto’s hand.

He was spiralling out of control again — or perhaps he’d never stopped, and had only been blind to it for a while.

Gladio’s grip on him tightened. ‘Shit,’ he said, and he rested his head on Ignis’ shoulder, burying his face in the crook of Ignis’ neck. Even though he’d wanted it, Gladio’s pain only made him feel ashamed, small and stupid. ‘I’m sorry, Iggy.’

‘Don’t be,’ he ended up saying. ‘It’s not your fault.’

‘Who said it was? But I should have seen it.’

Ignis’ body had given up entirely, slumped down against Gladio’s immovable form. ‘I’ll thank you to remember I’m not entirely without self control, this evening notwithstanding.’ His voice was dull and tired, mirroring the rest of him. He wondered if Prompto would speak up to disagree, tear apart his argument and expose him further. He didn’t.

‘I guess I’ll go get supper, then,’ Prompto said, sofa shifting as he got up. His false cheer was infinitely worse than true misery. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t touch the meat.’

Ignis must have tensed up or made some abortive movement, because Gladio reacted immediately to tighten his grip. ‘You’re staying here,’ he said. ‘If he got to twenty-five without being able to cook, you deserve to eat his crappy food.’

‘I’m not his mother,’ Ignis said, but he was too tired to be snappy. Too tired to be anything much. He just wanted… anything, so long as he didn’t have to decide what.

He wanted Gladio — his arms to hold him in place, keeping him upright, taking the weight of choice from his hands when it got too heavy. He wanted Gladio to tell him _no._ That he’d done enough. Gladio was the only one who knew exactly what Ignis was capable of, and whom Ignis trusted enough to push him there but not expect more.

The guilt was instant, churned into something worse by the truth of Ignis’ longing. He also wanted Prompto. He _ought_ to want Prompto. Prompto was his partner whom he loved.

He wanted — he wanted — he wanted Noct. He wanted his old life back. He wanted what Gladio had, to be strong and dependable and needed. He wanted to stop thinking about Radix and Ardyn. He wanted not to be blind.

The blackness of the world pressed down on him, tighter than Gladio’s arms. He hated it. He _hated_ it. He hated it more than anything else, except for himself, whom he hated most of all. He hated himself for being blind. For not being better. For letting it happen, for taking it, for pretending to be fine afterwards when it _wasn’t fine_. He wasn’t fine.

The tears welled up behind his eyes, hot and overflowing before he’d even managed to realise they were there. When he tried to lift a hand Gladio let him, and he pressed his knuckles to his mouth, trying to hide the way his lips twisted and his teeth bared with his sobs.

‘All right then,’ Gladio said, lifting him effortlessly, one hand under his knees and the other supporting his back. He cradled Ignis to his chest, and Ignis pressed himself to him, wanting him. ‘Come on, you too.’

He laid him out on the bed, and Ignis clutched at him shamefully. ‘Don’t go,’ he said, voice thick with the tears still seeping like humiliation out of him.

‘I won’t,’ Gladio said as he undressed Ignis, baring the dead flesh of his scars and shadows where each of his ribs were visible. ‘Neither of us will.’

There was a brief scuffle above Ignis, but he let it happen without moving. ‘Oh no you don’t,’ Gladio said.

‘Really?’ Prompto hissed back.

‘Just get the hell in,’ Gladio said, and the mattress dipped and bucked as Prompto rolled up behind Ignis. He was still clothed, and he kicked off his trousers and shirt, getting tangled up in the sheets as he shoved them from underneath him.

‘Hey,’ Prompto said in Ignis’ ear, and touched him carefully with his hands when normally he’d be pressed up shoulder to hip, legs tangled with Ignis’ legs.

Ignis groped for him, clumsy, jabbing his fingers into Prompto’s ribs. He was still crying, and only cried harder when Prompto took his hand; Ignis shoved his free hand up against his own face, pressing hard with his palm until his head and neck hurt with the pressure.

‘Okay,’ Prompto said, hissing it in a way that told Ignis he was speaking to Gladio. ‘No, hold up, you’re not just going to leave now are you?’

‘I’m not going to get between you two.’

‘There’s literally no room between us. Iggy’ll have to be between _us_.’ There was a pause, then: ‘Come on dude, don’t. You can’t just start shit like this then fuck off. Don’t do that to us.’

‘I’ll be back.’

‘No. No. No, you don’t get to decide to just magically have boundaries now. Not after — just, please, Gladio. Don’t go. Please. Fucking _please_ , Gladio. I’m so fucking terrified right now and it’s literally all your fault — please don’t leave him with me. Please don’t.’

Prompto spoke with a breathlessness that made Ignis’ heart ache, made the exhausted sobs seizing his chest even worse.

‘Fine, fine!’ Gladio’s voice rumbled over Ignis, pitched low and placating. ‘But for the record, I think it’s a bad idea.’

He got into the bed anyway, which creaked, and when Gladio moved one of the slats snapped. Gladio swore under his breath and pressed closer to Ignis anyway, crowding him between his and Prompto’s bodies. It was far too hot. Prompto shoved the covers away, kicking them down to their knees, and tucked his arm over Ignis’ waist.

It was entirely humiliating, but Ignis fell asleep anyway.


End file.
